The Liger's Piece of Sky
by Listening to trees
Summary: "Tied across the pages/ Worlds kaleidoscopic/ Same person waiting at every end/ Yet forwards we keep on running." A collection of unrelated X27 ficlets and oneshots. Individual summaries and warnings inside.
1. Obento

Hi, everyone! It's been quite some time since my last X27. Since I'm still working on the latest one (which is also an installment of this series), have one of my older ficlets!

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Title: OBento  
Rating: **PG-13 due to Squalo's potty mouth** :P  
Pairing: Implied X27  
Genre: Humor; a bit WAFF-ish?  
Summary: Squalo pops the one question everyone's been dying to ask.  
Disclaimer: Are X27, RL and 4851 officially canon yet? If they aren't, then I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. (sadly)

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"VOOOIII!" He yelled. "WHAT THE HELL DO YOU SEE IN BOSS, YOU FUCKING BRAT?"

Since getting _that _half of the couple to answer was out of question, Squalo was now forced to talk the Sawada brat into solving the mystery that had been burning him —quite literally as well as figuratively— for days.

The top brat blinked in surprise and stopped what he was doing; which was packing a lunchbox for the subject of their discussion. He paused to think, while scratching that mountainous pile of pouffy brown hair before replying slightly sheepishly: "Well; he's just...cute, you know?" with a blush positively affecting those cheeks.

The shark stared. No, he DID _NOT _know, and neither did he wish to; now that he'd become the unwitting receiver to this unhappy piece of knowledge.

Growling in impatience and barely-contained disgust, he snatched the just-wrapped bento out of Sawada's hands; and proceeded with his daily horrendous task of acting delivery boy in their sickeningly sweet exchange involving that damn food package.

If this was what being in love made you, Squalo hoped he _never _knew.

*Owari

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A/N: Squalo was getting burned by his boss for asking "that fucking _stupid_ question"; get it? XDDDDD

Erm, review?

**Update (19/1/11): **Oh, wow; I didn't expect such a warm reception! O.o THANK YOU GUYS~~~ X'DDDDD

I have also receive a very prompt response in my request for prompts. (Sorry; couldn't resist the pun. :P) 15 of them! Thank you again, minna-san! ^^

Erm...since I already have so many this quickly; it's ok if you don't give any more now? Otherwise I wouldn't be able to finish them...(and a few were rather... unique too; so they add spice to the challenge)

Hope to see you again soon! :)


	2. Masterless

(*ahem) Here's another earlier one (sorry! n_nU) ; hope you don't mind...

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Title: Master-less  
Rating: PG13 'cause it's...yaoi! (Xanxus would kill me I let anything involving him be termed as shounen-ai)  
Pairing: X27  
Genre: Humor

Warning: What would Xanxus's POV be without some swearing? :P  
Summary: There was absolutely no fucking chance in hell he had been domesticated.  
Disclaimer: Katekyo Hitman Reborn belongs to the awesome Amano Akira-sensei and not me; or Xanxus would've had more airtime...

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Squalo had been the first one to get shot when he dared complain about a "domesticated Xanxus."

That quelled the bloody rumors for a while; until the whispering started all over. Seriously, you'd have thought that instead of a bunch of assassins, they were housing a group of fucking _housewives_ with nothing better to do than turn everybody's lives into some shitty soap opera. The sooner he'd killed the gossip (with the general hint of very violent repercussions), the sooner it sprung up again; fiercer than ever; and Xanxus _really _hated losing.

And the worst thing was, he never actually _caught_ anyone in the act of spreading the vile things; (except for the stupid shark; but they weren't counting fish) because this was the one cause in which the whole circus (led possibly by suspects Lussuria and Belphegor; (s)he for the horrendously demented idea of "spreading the love", and he for the sheer hell of it) was united against him. And Tsunayoshi would never speak to him again if he took out his entire team.

Stomping the halls -unsuccessfully- yet again, Xanxus growled with pure irritation. He would have demanded his lover for help if it didn't demonstrate his own shortcomings concerning the Vongola hyper intuition. In any case, it didn't do for him to appear weak or dependent; or he'd _never _be free of the bloody gossiping.

That was when his ears caught it: whispers of "the younger Sawada" that was definitely not imagined. And here in the Varia manor, mentions of that name led to only one conclusion.

Raising his guns and grinning bloodthirstily, the crimson-eyed man kicked down the door and began firing.

*Owari 

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A/N: In a totally unrelated topic, I just saw someone's signature on a forum; it shows a picture of a popular search engine with the words _Lambo's husband _on it. And the result was: do you mean _Reborn_?

*Squeeee~~~~~XDDDD


	3. Never to Return

Title: Never To Return  
Pairing: XanxusxTsuna  
Genre: Angst, mild hints of romance  
Rating: PG  
Warning: Character death (Do I see a pattern here?)  
Summary: Nobody made Xanxus wait. Absolutely _nobody.

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_

"明月不归沉碧海  
白云愁色满苍梧。"  
("...But the moon has sunk into the azure seas, never to return; and the once-white clouds now cast ChangWu in their shades of sorrow.")

- 哭晁卿衡, 李白《唐诗三百首》("Dirge For Chao Heng", a poem by Li Bai from "300 Verses of Tang Dynasty Poems")

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He would not believe it. He refused to believe it.

Pacing in his room, the Varia leader's thoughts were as precise as his aim; and matched the speed of his footfalls. Their contents' undertone was bitingly cold; yet each stoked up a nice, warm anger of the sort that always simmered just beyond sight before it burst in a magnificent display of his infamous temper.

The boy was purposely making him wait. Part of him was in disbelief; at the youth's new-found gall. The hours that had lapsed since their appointed time could have meant nothing else.

The largest faction, however, was too busy seething to think of why the fury at being stood up wasn't in any way related to his ego.

Vongola Decimo or not, he was going to burn the impudent weakling to a crisp when he finally dared show himself.

Lussuria opened the door hesitantly at some time; pleading with him to eat; something he had not done in the last 8 hours. Xansus simply threw the nearest heavy projectile at him in reply. It was a move he usually reserved for Squalo, but when the crimson-eyed man was this pissed, every one of his subordinates knew instinctively to duck and cover. Thankfully, the normally tactless idiot did not return.

The frog-marching resumed.

Sawada Tsunaysohi couldn't be gravely injured two thousand miles away at this moment; lying on his deathbed. No one who'd ever defeated Xanxus -even if just once, and by a seriously exaggerated default- would _dare_ let themselves be cut down by an upstart punk like the Zanna Scura. What he was probably doing was happily getting himself delayed, likely by the trash he called his Guardians; and fuck was Xanxus going to make him pay.

It was only when the official papers got slipped under his door that the truth came knocking; and left him howling in an inconsolable rage.

**(*Owari)**

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A/N: Zanna scura= "dark fang". (Yeah; lame choice of name... ;_;U) The papers referred to Tsuna's death certs.

This was actually written about the same time as "Parting Shot"; a product of the thought "What if Xanxus wasn't there?" I'm so sorry~~~ TAT~~ for bringing you the same old thread! Sorry!

But the good news is, I've gotten new ideas from rereading this; and it's not a character death this time! So there's no need to send for Squalo to butcher me yet. n_nU

**Notes to the Poem (and perhaps, how it relates to the story):**

The above excerpt is the last two verses of a short four-liner by one of ancient China's most prodigious poets, Li Bai. The story goes that he composed it out of sheer grief moments after the news reached him that a close friend, a Japanese named Chao Heng, had deceased while sailing back to his homeland. Fortunately for him, it was found out to be a false alarm, but like the rest of his works, the poem was immortalised anyway in one of the greatest works of archaic Chinese literature, "300 Verses of Tang Dynasty Poems".

In using the moon as an allegory to the dearly departed, the poet had simultaneously extolled the subject's virtue; alluding to a heart as pure as its colour, an integrity as whole as its full shape, and morals akin to its elevation. ChangWu here refers to Mount ChangWu, literally the Mountain of Silver WuTongs (Chinese Parasol trees). Interestingly, this tree has also been mentioned in other Chinese poems; apparently a favourite symbol of monogamy and/or unwavering friendship and loyalty.


	4. Update

Hi again, all. Long time, no see. 

Just wanted to inform you that **this series is not dead.** Been working on it in the past few months since the end of my year-long hiatus. (Explanation for which is viewable on my profile). 

Remember the 15 prompts some of you gave me? Here's the progress so far. 

1. Book- in progress. Hinges on another author's permission, since it's a short spin-off of her work.

2. Photo, garden, leisure, butterfly, dream- in progress.

3. Cat, tune- complete, undergoing touch-ups. Not sure if my take for 'tune' fits the criteria though.

4. Rain- 70% complete. Now a oneshot.

5. Repeat- has 2 stories attached to it, depends on whether I can get both to work out.

6. Moonlight- in-progress. Estimated to be either a short series or long-assed oneshot.

7. Ghost- has 3 ideas attached to it; two drabble-y and one estimated long-assed oneshot. 

That leaves: dinner, dessert, grudge. 

I'll try and keep all the ideas alive for those with multiple drafts attached to them. You're always welcome to PM me for sneak previews. 

Now, any comments? :)


	5. Murphy's Law

**Pairing:Xfem27 (Xanxusxfem!Tsuna), with cameo appearances from other genderbent &/ yaoi pairings**

**Genre: Gen, romance, AU**

**Rating: PG-15 for the combination of Xanxus's and Squalo's vocabulary.**

**Warnings: ****weird humor****, and Xanxus possibly not dark/ boss-like enough to escape OOCness**

**Summary: He **_**knew **_**what it was; he just never had any respect for that shit.**

**Disclaimer: If I actually owned a world-famous manga like KHR, I would have wicked drawing skillz and a HUGE set of Copics. But I have neither; so no.**

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A/N: Apologies for any mistakes and awkward sentence structures; quite ill and the moment. Betas and comments are very welcome.  
(Btw, does anyone know how to make the **Shift+Enter** function work?

I'm tired of **how this site's Doc Manager keeps eating up my carefully-placed spacing.**)

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If Sawada Tsuna, kind, stuttery, loyal and humble Tsuna with her black-suited chauffeur and imported clothes had been studying anywhere else but in Sir Giotto's Private Academy, she might've been immensely adored.

As it went, she endured her childhood education in an elite boarding school. Where everyone either matched or outstripped her in material wealth. Where she met Xanxus.

The rest, as they say, is history.

But you know what they always say about that mousy, scrawny and pathetic little thing you used to bully? The one whose hair you used to pull, pelt food at and call names like anything because her tears were just asking for it; because you were the sort of horror that made people glad they didn't have children.

About how she, like the perfect princess she was, would then develop the perfect body.

And be stationed above you. Because of all the companies you could aim for you had to pick the one owned by her grand-uncle, and which she was heir to.

(Without any of those deliciously kinky connotations; unfortunately.)

Xanxus'd believed revenge would be beyond her; and he was right. Sawada cared too much for Vongola Corp's image, and abided by such pacifist principles that she would never be anything but polite, friendly and professional.

He snorts.  
An uncle as president, a father on the board and loyal subordinates aplenty (not including the ass-kissing grunts who'd do _anything_ to suck up to the heir-apparent); and she refused to reach out for an ounce of that power at her disposal. How very dame-Tsuna. He could almost convince himself that she hadn't changed one bit.

Except now she wouldn't give him the time of the day either. While she no longer had that amusing, hair-trigger tendency to drop her composure, she was far too calm, too firm, too elegantly logical and courteous in rejecting his advances; that there was not a single crack in her defences he could work through.

Which reeked of so much practice that he itched to dig up the bastards she'd gained her experience on; just to beat the shit out of those who'd dare makes moves on his target.

He could start with Rokudo. Greasy, manipulative sonuvabitch always hovering around and attempting to charm her; throw in a fondle. You'd think her father had enough sense not to hire this guy for fear of all the sexual harassment lawsuits; let alone give him a job in his daughter's department; but _no_. Maybe Iemitsu thought he could count on that Yamamoto and the overzealous childhood friend for her protection; but Xanxus wouldn't put it past him to slip something into those candies and delicacies he was forever proffering. Thankfully, kitten knew what the fucker was up to too. Avoided him like the plague outside of work and the Friday evening coffee she had with her so-called "Guardians". In that sense, the bastard's luck was about as good as Xanxus's.

If this was all he had to worry for, Xanxus could've been happy. Sadly, there was still the childhood friend. Screw the multiple PhDs, the guy was_ MENTAL_. How could ANYONE else miss the way he stared at her and behaved around her? All those goddamn photos and Sawada-related items in his office. Xanxus would've torched the whole place down and drummed him out on his ass if he could. Before fucking stalker here did as those movie crazies did and_ really_ went loco.

Speaking of psychos, how could he ever forget Hibari? Freaking sociopath; that one (and no he was not talking about himself). Exactly what did Cavallone and the office ladies see in him? Sure; brat was a decent looker –if one had the hots for a face like a stone. Stupid motherfucker had quite the temper on him too (again; not referring to himself). He just hoped the terror would forever control himself around Tsuna –and save the god-awful dog-puns and beatings for his masochistic boyfriend.

_/So?/_ Idiot Squalo says._ /Don't see anything holding_ you_ back. Just suck it up and apologise to the goddamn woman./_

All very well-said for someone who might as well be married. Only thing was, the girl was refusing_ him_. Him; loaded, ripped and badass Xanxus (Never mind that it was her family who funded his paycheck). And Xanxus, _determined_ as he was, was not about to discard his dignity and beg. Not for him the besotted likes of his pseudo-friend, who practically slobbered after his own beau's legs. (Though, to Squalo's credit, Yamamoto _was_ incredibly sexy. Still; too irritatingly perky and built like an Amazoness for his taste.)

Even if the lady in question had, he admits now, always looked like a goddess.

Wait.

He ceases beating his say (or simply beating) into the shark's head. An apology opened up opportunities of all sorts. Like constructing a credible reason to take Sawada out to dinner.

Who would be clad in a skin-tight dress. (Gifted by Xanxus of course. He will not leave this to chance.)

To show his gratitude, Xanxus slaps the money for their drinking session on the counter along with a generous tip. After which he settles on the finest whisky in the house.

Squalo, for his part, remained mostly still on the floor; recuperating. Every once in a while, the blessed silence would be punctuated with what sounded incredibly like a curse on Xanxus's mother. Yet what he wore on his obscured face at that moment bore a remarkable resemblance to his superior's chainsaw grin.

_/Pussy-whipped bastard. /_

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**(*Owari)**

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If you want to see what my femTsuna looks like, the fanart I did a while ago that inspired this is called "Katekyo Hitman Reborn!: Through the Looking Glass". It's under my Deviantart account, SethAdmirer. This bedeviled site's been messing with the links again; so you'll have to go look for it yourself; sorry.

The art also inspired another ficlet for **the ****prompt "Tune",** which I will upload at a late date.

**I know; I know, this one doesn't answer any of the prompts**. But much as I'd like to; I'm not young enough to forgo sleep anymore; so the rest will have to wait for when I've the time.

Still, hope you enjoyed! ;D


	6. Looks Can Be Deceiving

Hi guys! Having my exams in 3 days now; but luckily, I found an old installation for this series I'd missed. **It was written 2 years ago**, hope you don't mind.

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Title: Looks Can Be Deceiving  
**Rating: NC-17 (so from hereon the rating has gone up to M)**  
Genre: Romance  
Warning: Cocktease scene due to amateur execution of boy smex.  
Summary: What Xanxus would never admit, but Tsuna already knows. A gesture is worth a thousand words.

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He was NOT making love to the brat, just fucking him slower than usual; trying to see how many times he could make him come if he drew out the pace of his thrusts. He was taking his time to know that it was the Vongola Decimo, acting like a slut beneath him; to savour the natural right given to him to reduce the mouth ordering him around into uttering heated moans.

Who the hell would not find that addictive?

That was what he thought, as he watched the flush-darkened little face beneath him; drinking in the erotic sight of Tsuna using his elbows to give himself leverage as he pushed Xanxus's waist down with encircling legs until he had taken the man in to the base.

It was the third time that night the youth's come had trickled; the evidence of which had soaked the slim hips long since. His different treatment of their tryst had comprised of more details: the mapping out of each other's bodies with tongues and delicate teeth; nibbles, bites and artfuls sucks that drove both of them into pleasurable oblivion. It was like tasting a different, mellower vintage for a change; and Xanxus found that he quite liked it.

Which was why Sawada earned a snort instead of a foul tirade when he whispered "Thank you, Xanxus" into his ear; his irritating smile twice as soft and more cryptic than usual. The Varia leader then crawled off him and pulled him into a rough embrace before falling asleep. He needs his strength to deal with a psychotic team in the morning.

So does Tsuna; but he chooses to wait a few more minutes and imprint his lover's face deeper into his memory while the man has closed his eyelids. Just before slipping under, he wonders briefly; if anyone else has experienced this truth as much as he does.

If gentleness can sometimes be deceiving, so too can its opposite.

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*Owari

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**Reviews keep my muse happy. (*wink, hint) **

**Welp, gotta get back to studying now. Apologies if I haven't read your comments or reviews yet. Be a pity to do that right now when I'm too distracted to formulate proper responses, no? See you in a few weeks! ;D**


	7. After the Rains

**Title: After the Rains/ And the World is Silent**

**Genre: semi-angst, gen**

**Rating: R for passing mentions of smex**

**Warning: Tsuna's POV, so may be quite mushy.**

**Summary: Tsuna's thoughts amidst the aftermath of the inevitable struggle.**

**Disclaimer: Why am I even doing this?**

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**Written for abschaum's prompt 'Rain'.**

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Blue.

The six-o'-clock dusk has sunk the world into blue.

Lush cyans loping over the silhouettes of hydrangeas and moon-gilded chrysanthemums; pooling in the fountain's gloom. The indigo blot of collective vegetation, respiring and sloping across the glowing landscape. And a humming, neon turquoise; splayed out lazily all over the marble parapet. In the quiet and moist air after a well-made rain, everything perspires gently with life and sizzles.

The lines sluicing through the pages are sable.

Sentences, phrases, then words. A glacier of onyx-lettered information, rippling slowly through the mind. Every now and then, the practiced hand swoops low and stoppers this river at the right places; after the weight of all its meanings, hidden, open or merely possible; has been pondered over and over. The name it leaves in its wake decides lives and moves veritable fortunes. The pen, however, skates airily through its forms; light as a feather.

The man and his room are a perfect study in composure.

Then he becomes vaguely certain of an impending leak from his writing instrument through experience. He presses the nib onto a spare piece of paper, and sure enough; a single orb of ink squeezes from the crack and soaks through.

Tsuna bites the inside of his cheek and waits. His hand does not tremble. But some delicate piece inside the clockwork of this moment has already shifted.

So he exhales. And lets his brain flood with memories of the frigid poison in yesterday's tenseness.

_Would it kill you to stop being so fucking NAIVE?!_

_Xanxus, I'm not! How many times have we been through this already?! Why can't you understand? Caution might be necessary, but we NEED this untainted trust and equality among our allies; or we'll stand to lose everything!_

_Fuck you, Tsunayoshi! I'm not sitting here listening to this bullshit! Either you start controlling those fucking hypocrites right NOW; or we're calling it quits!_

Not for the first time, he wished that Mukuro and Hibari hadn't murdered the man quite so eagerly. Even if assassins were never given any quarter, successful or otherwise; vengeance wasn't worth the unresolved demons that quick death had resulted in.

As it was, the incident had haunted them too long already.

Still too fresh, even so; too new for the both of them. Not, perhaps, to Tsuna, since he turned 16; and certainly never for Xanxus; but for the two of them together, the sting was as raw as they come.

And thus, two months later, his lover still clutches a bit too hard onto his hips as he drives his ridged thickness in; still lingers too long over the tiny, lipped craters where the bullet –_bullets_ –used to be.

Still sits up in the middle of the night, stirring, too, his Hyper-Intuitive partner; flooding the latter's empty slumber with the spilling residues of his private torments. And, possessing this insight, Tsuna would then turn over, to become arrested by an achingly, increasingly familiar mask of desolate rage.

Rage is Xanxus. Rage is his unique mould of governance, the only one his subordinates would abide by and stand for. Rage is in his undoubting passion; in serving the family and in exacting his personal brand of justice. Rage is his eyes; the aggressive, pulsing colours that would not slide away from Tsuna's body as he marks and seizes into him; relentless. And it was in his rootless solitude; lost as a reward for his furious, unquestioned identity as his father's son. The latter had been bartered for a modicum of acceptance a shortly peaceful year before; with age, Timoteo's resignation and his successor's competence. So far, Tsuna has yet to gauge the price tag this time for the exorcism.

He could talk. He had brought up this ghost before; had lain it down on Xanxus as tactfully as he could. The man had shouted in the times they had cold fights; had listened broodingly and grunted at better moments. And after they'd dropped each discussion, there hung a sense of incompletion like a wound that itches –and Tsuna's instincts are proven right again until the next "discussion".

The tightening of his teeth peels at the tissue of his inner cheek, breaking out the first bouquet of blood; unnoticed.

There had been sweetness and intensity at the initial realisation of each other's feelings not so very long ago –when he'd taken it upon himself to act on an interpretation of those stolen glances that he'd hypothesised, but dared not hope for. Every exchange afterwards had been charged with this fervent mix of mutual relief and disbelief; the younger from his sheer luck at not getting killed and the propositioned at his miraculous amnesty from previous transgressions (Not least of all Tsuna's seemly sudden preference for men. But really now, the Varia veteran had been too quick to base his judgement on a teenager's crushes). So much, so much giddiness; that the slightest brush of fingertips in the passing of documents could inspire neatly-suppressed shudders. Even Squalo screaming at them to get a room (to which Xanxus responded in the very physical and prompt protest of a shattered vodka bottle) could not break the daze that had infected them.

Perhaps that was what had paved the way to this stalemate: Xanxus, having never wanted someone so _hungrily_ in his life –hence alien to the agony expected of watching them survive such close shaves –is suffering from the brunt of his own inexperience.

A slight quirk flips up the side of his mouth at a thought:

Even Death must seem like a love rival to Xanxus.

To borrow the old cliché, time was the best medicine. All the days needed to tell the man again that he was alive and would live, all the free evenings and spare minutes amidst showers. Tsuna will speak to him in warm tones; call him between airports; sob his name like a sacred litany to their sharp, exquisite heavens. They will resume their meals together, browse through paperwork on Fridays whilst locating the hand of the other, and when night finally falls on their work, he will lull himself to sleep whispering to his retired half. Whether Xanxus hears him or not, Tsuna does not know. He will just teach him again and again till he learns.

_I am here._

_I am here._

That he shall start now; by attacking his reports with renewed vigour. In two hours, he will finish twenty minutes faster than estimated; in another half, he will step out onto the Varia's lawn; armed with a bottle of 27-year-old Parker's Heritage to surprise Xanxus.

But for now, the wet stars outside that will witness their first relaxed conversation after the long, dry spell, merely watches.

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**Note: Parker's Heritage; full name 'Parker's Heritage 2****nd**** Edition 27-year-old. The American Whisky of the Year for 2008; pegged as an ultra-mature bourbon from a label that produces unusually aged whiskies for their specials. Market price: approximately $200 for 750 ml. **

**The overall theme for this fic is Kay Huang's 'Su Miao (Sketch)'. Very melodic ditty; with lyrics that run like poetry. The music video is worth watching too. Here: watch?v=zM_eApYYGxc (Just add youtube's usual code in front). If anyone wants the translation for the lyrics, just message me.**

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Author's notes:

1.** I need a beta**, I need a betaaaaaa. Anyone want to suggest one? Seriously, I can't spell-check very well half-asleep; and it'd be nice to have a sounding board.

2. As you may have noticed, some of my stories have hit the 1000-word mark and **can't be called ficlets anymore.** Should these be kept here or posted separately as oneshots?

3. Please do go to my profile and help me improve my writing by** voting** if you've read at least 3 of my fics (counting each ficlet as one), will you? Thanks. :)

4. I'm not afraid of hearing people calling my work tosh and ruder names, and there is the anonymous poster button. So: Comments? Got any comments, mister?


	8. Emancipate You

Sorry bout the long wait, all. Here's the **rewritten** version of 'Emancipate'. Hope you'd be understand it this time! :)

.

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**Pairing: Xanxusxfem!Tsuna, genderbent!HaruxKyoko (so is this yaoi or yuri?), etc.**

**Genre: angst, gen**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: Before a new concerto begins, the curtain must fall. **

**Disclaimer: It sure would be a pleasant surprise if I own KHR. ;D**

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.

Theme song: 'Cold' by Aziatix

**Written for the prompt 'Tune'; and beta'ed by Shiary. **

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.

.

.

Sasagawa Kyo had always presumed. That with Tsuna-chan, it would be different. That it would be perfectly safe to be gentlemanly and protective with her; to be his unguarded and affectionate self around her. No more keeping a polite, wary distance; no more watching a pair of shining, hopeful eyes with an old heaviness, wondering when he'd sent the wrong signals. (_Again_.) If he did ever see that extra spark in the brunette's gaze, well; maybe he had been a little too insistent in projecting on her his wants for a younger sister.

After he recognised that familiar adulation in her expression (_too late_), he'd prayed. That she would come to realise; and look at all the men (and women) around her, who were in love with her in their many ways –each no less fervent than the next; all harbouring something his own platonic feelings for her could never hold a candle to.

Even those of to this man; this strange, predatory man, who only chased after her in the shadows.

(and here Kyo's upbringing reprimands his prejudiced description of an unknown person, though nothing else quite fits)

But in the end, he was still the one she chased after.

Not for the first time, he has to wonder how everyone interprets his dates with Haru.

Because, really now; what else could be deduced from two boys who went on regular, exclusive outings with each other; shared a monthly ritual; who understood each other like no one else and were virtually joined at the hip?

And Gokudera-shi was supposed to be a genius too.

Then again, with the frustrated looks his nii-san often sent her way, she was probably somewhat oblivious romantic-wise. (Not that nii-san could be any more reticent about his feelings).

Kyo shook his head.

Now was not the occasion for worrying about his older brother. Focus.

"You promise to take care of her after I do this?" he queried, studying the figure in the corner. Even with the added time since their last encounter, he still cannot get over how blatant the other male's appearance is. Every inch of his form –from his monochrome suit and scars rippling across his _ganguro_ skin, to his aged eyes the colour of bloodlust –screamed 'mafia'. Even the casual hunch of his body against the stonework bespoke of tempered violence. Kyo couldn't have trusted his dear friend to a man more different than himself.

Truthfully, he should be more worried. Yet he has confidence in Tsuna's strength; he takes comfort in her multitude of watchful, caring friends. And ever since his sister figure sat him down on a riverbank in the future that (thankfully) no longer existed, some notion of this had already seemed inevitable –even if _this_ man wasn't exactly what he'd imagined or wanted for her. Up to the point he met that silver-haired sword-wielder, he had been banking on Yamamoto.

"None of your business, trash. Now get this fucking song and dance over with," the man-beast sneered, hand resting casually on one of his weapons. Kyo merely notes the absence of the far less savoury names some call his kind; and thinks that this killer, of all people, understands. Because even if the pain he must cause poor, sweet, little Tsuna-chan fills him with remorse, he isn't sorry for not choosing her –he'll never apologise for falling in love with Haru.

(Xanxus, for his part, simply notices the stiffened body conveying wariness, but without a shred of fear; and thinks that there may be something to this girly shrimp after all).

Kyo nods. Time to end his side-stepping and tell Tsuna the truth. It was no less than she and Haru deserved.

As he walks over to where a smiling, waving Tsuna awaits, he almost falters; the weight of her vulnerability and goodness pressing on him more keenly than ever.

Then he recalls the oddly careful, contemplative blankness in that mafioso's stare whenever it rested on her, and draws courage from hope.

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(Owari)

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Notes:

1. "**-shi**" -an honorific used after the name of a woman of equal or higher status. Not to be confused with another "-shi" (different kanji), which addresses absolute strangers in formal writing.

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2. Since '**Haru'** is a unisex Japanese name, I kept it intact through the genderbending, but '**Kyoko'** is definitely female; so it got shortened to 'Kyo' (as in 'Kyoto'). '**Tsunayoshi'**, too; is only used for boys, hence, 'Tsuna' (luck), its female form.

Incidentally, **Gokudera**'s full name in here is 'Gokudera Katsuko', which means 'child of eagle/ falcon'. Had it been **Yamamoto** (he's still male for this fic), 'Takeshi' would've been substituted with 'Takeko' (child of bamboo); which presents the very 'awwww'-inducing likelihood that Tsuyoshi named his restaurant after his only daughter. 'Takeko' also comes from Nakano Takeko, one of Japan's most famous onna-bugeisha (female warrior) and the leader of the Women's Army during the Battle of Aizu.

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3.** Ganguro –**Japanese slang meaning "blackface". Derived from "gangankuroi" (extremely dark); basically denoting suntan skin. Also refers a certain kind of Japanese women's fashion.

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4.** How the guardians fit into this scenario–**

Gokudera: Too besotted with Tsuna and dense romantically.

Yamamoto: Too involved in his own frustrations around an entertainingly embarrassed and scandalised Squalo (Fucking brat's barely LEGAL! VOOOOIIIII!)

Ryohei: being _Ryohei. _(and rather confused over the flip-flops his organs do whenever Gokudera gets in his face and is that cleavage winking at him down the shirt there *O_O)

Lambo: Still a kid. Tsuna wouldn't take him seriously anyway.

Mukuro: Hasn't watched a decent soap opera in months.

Hibari: Does. Not. Care.

Chrome: Sad for Tsuna and does try to tell her; but never underestimate the power of chaos and Tsuna's denial.

In steps Xanxus; too aggressive and impatient to wait on this sort of shit. :P

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**Please tell me if it's still confusing, alright?** I know reviewing can get annoying and time-consuming, but with each piece of feedback I get to improve and make this a better reading experience for all of you. ;)


	9. Strings off an Apron

**Hello again all; and sorry for the long wait! **Had finished this ten days ago, but apparently there was a funny lil misunderstanding between me and my beta; lol.

Oh, did I mention? **I've a beta now!** XD I'd love to introduce her to you all, but I've never asked if she's ok with it...next time?

**Sorry about the last chapter**, though.** It's undergoing reconstruction as we speak. **Again, apologies if I've missed replying to any of your comments. These few weeks have been pretty jam-packed. (*panda eyes)

On with the story!

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**Pairings: X27, one-sided 5927**

**Genre: angst**

**Summary: There was never a place in a heart like that for another; not when it was already occupied. But he was always bad at absorbing life's emotional lessons.**

**Theme song (?): Big Bang's 'Blue'**/ Taeyang's 'Wedding Dress'

**Beta: Shiary**

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He sits outside the cafeteria, in full-view of admiring women; pretending to be as interested in them as they are in him through his one-sided conversation.

The fact that his off-hand remarks are directed at an engaged man would raise a few eyebrows in the local Catholic community.

The fact that he is Gokudera Hayato and the polite, nodding male whose attention he has is his boss, well; for any who knew him it would do more than raise those eyebrows.

All the better that they are not present; that the plainclothes bodyguards close enough to hear would not carry reports. Nor would they dare to judge him; any man picked for the HQ Storm Division tended to emulate their leader's dedication to a fault. As for the lack of members from other factions and how he'd gotten off scot-free with that, sometimes it paid to be fanatical.

Though, he hoped that that desperation would not show now; this entire operation hinged on appearing natural. Not that he had much chance of disguising his motives from the Vongola Hyper Intuition, but the point was not to let the Decimo differentiate this occasion from any of his previous ventures; lest he be turned off and render Gokudera's attempts at talk the fruitless ramblings of a madman.

Even if he wasn't making much headway as it is.

Just then, the Guardian caught sight of an expressly distinctive lady walking by; and the flare of optimism in his chest colours his enthusiasm in momentary authenticity.

To which Tsuna reacted by whipping his eyes across her face, so rapidly it could only have been a half-hearted concession.

There was that frustration again. It was beginning to ache like a gunshot; there were only so many weeks of skirting around that Gokudera could take before his dejection became permanent.

How he wishes Kyoko hadn't left, hadn't decided to prevent herself from remaining Tsuna's burden. Even Haru would've been better.

Anyone really; as long as it was not Xanxus.

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Between such moments and his own work, he reminisces of the years before.

Riffles through his recollections furiously at times; fearful that failing to detect and prevent it had been his fault.

But all that resides in his eidetic memory are the drilling, imperious stares; the ugly insults; the refusal to acknowledge his Jyuudaime's existence even years after the man could occupy the same room without drawing his guns as a result. He then hypothesises all the opportunities they had to be alone, estimates the total hours, and curses himself to eternal damnation.

Although, everyone else had been shocked. Not equally so; none of them had their reality screwed over and there were a few apathetic bastards. Certainly Mukuro's face indicated that Christmas had come early; and Hibari was only interested in fighting the 'carnivore'.

And no one else was the right hand man; no one else was supposed to anticipate every downfall; to protect the Tenth no matter what. Bar that bitter instance when he was forced to suffer Byakuran strangling the life out of his boss, unable to do _anything_, he has never felt like such an utter flop.

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It makes sense that Yamamoto should be his antithesis, even in this.

_Don't say it_, he screams internally. Their battle had rendered his ribs too battered; but his feral visage should compensate. _Don't say it._

He already knows there's a crack; but he can't fathom how deeply he will shatter.

His rival's unsmiling eyes seem old; like Gokudera's adolescence has been playing tricks on him. They look like sand, like autumn before winter, like the crumbling pages of a well-preserved tome and like death. In the smoky, dust-riddled air after their clash, his rival's eyes seem inevitable.

"Gokudera," And the sonuvabitch has to enunciate clearly; now of all occasions. "Exactly when are you going to accept that Tsuna's getting _married_?"

It's his rival's, his equal's eyes; the calm resignation; that strike him harder than the gold on Tsuna's ring finger or those earlier punches.

For one, one, one second; Gokudera thinks of all those burnt letters he hadn't dared to put in an empty school desk; all those delirious poems penned with guilty, embarrassed fingers about a slender, burning silhouette. He thinks of the faceless bride feared by his younger self, and realises that he would not have hated her less.

Then his spine straightens as he glares wordlessly at Yamamoto; and does not cry.

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"Of course, you don't have it to do it, if you don't want to…" Ten years slid off his voice as he spoke.

"It's fine, Tenth; you can count on me." He himself must've regressed as well; he can't recall how long it's been since he's had to restate his reliability. It's a comforting revelation to press against his sternum; a talisman against the small, silken pillow he must support.

Like the proper right hand man, his hands do not tremble as he holds it out to the couple. When he finally allows himself to study how Xanxus reciprocates Tsuna's gaze, for what seems to be a first, somehow….

…somehow, he can imagine it hurting less, someday, to have let go.

(Which is not the same as desisting from watching the man like a hawk.)

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(*Owari)

Title comes from the idiom, "cutting the apron strings", which alludes to a mother relinquishing her reins on a grown-up child so that he/she may face the world. Not that Gokudera's feelings for Tsuna in this fic are anything close to parental; but the sentiment is identical.

**Again, feedback is always welcome! Especially if my characters are OOC; my language weird or the plot confusing. **Especially that last!

Gotta rush now. Exams are a-waiting. Til next time!


	10. Celsus Speaks

**Title: Celsus Speaks**

**Pairing: female!Xanxus +Tsuna**

**Rating: PG **

**Warnings: canon-based AU weirdness**

**Summary: Because Tsunayoshi will always be a reluctant challenger, no matter what the situation.**

**Beta: Shiary**

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**A/N: **Tsuna is in his early twenties, and Xanxus is a teenager in this one.

Written for the prompt **'repeat'.**

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He didn't understand why his old man had to pass him his half of the heirlooms. Yes, perhaps the rumours were true that their blood could be traced to the Primo; from some half-sister of a cousin who'd married into the Sawada house. But Sawada "Tsuna" Tsunayoshi would be willing to bet his favourite scotch that it wasn't prevalent enough to grant him immunity from the ancient safety measures on the Vongola Sky Ring. Unless Iemitsu believed the allure of the glory enough to…. dissuade Tsuna from the comfort of his position?

Though; even if the useless deadbeat were still fool enough to entertain such ideas, it still wouldn't explain the orders from Uncle.

_Nono_, Tsuna reminded himself firmly. His affection for his childhood hero had no place in business.

He sighed and replaced the incomplete rings in the box; locking them in the deepest vault under the Varia stronghold. Best to retire instead of stewing fruitlessly on this. Perhaps more light could be shed on the matter tomorrow with Takeshi's return.

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Then he sees her, and sees _everything._

Takeshi, bless his soul, often had a unique approach to describing things; no thanks to the accident that had scrambled his brain's wiring. As such, it was always preferred that he carried a few spy cameras, instead of forcing the Rain Squad captain to endure the humiliation of a traditional oral report.

Which meant that he was observing a truly unadulterated record of her and her Guardians. Her _so-called _Guardians. How in the blazes did these children come so far while nursing such arrogance? Sure; they were pretty strong as fighters –or would be with some solid training and a few years. Hadn't the Cradle Affair taught them _anything?_

And where on earth had she found such ridiculously brash young upstarts? As far as he knew, she had attended an all-girl's school before inciting the whole fiasco. He winced as Takeshi thrashed the sword-wielding one with painstaking ease onscreen. Thank god his subordinate had inherited Tyr's title in a fair, officialised fight; the aging retiree didn't need hot-blooded amateurs like these disturbing his peace.

Regarding the principessa herself (as the blonde boy put it), he was sad to say that the reputation preceding her had been dwarfed by the reality. Either that, or her famed temper had actually festered within the last two years. Which wasn't surprising, given the permanent and extensive scarring she'd received at her father's hands; any daughter would throw a fit and Cinzia was not known for forgiveness. He might've felt more sorry for her had he not heard of the damages her mess had inflicted on both the family's finances and prestige; as well as witnessed his boss's guilt and hurt. _Still_ witnessed the guilt and hurt. The old man might've resumed his unfailing fortitude and charisma on the outside, but it didn't take a rocket scientist to guess who those agents overseas were hunting famed surgeons and medical researchers for.

As he watched her shoot, uncaring if her stray bullets hit civilians, he thought of her recklessness, the disturbing whisperings of mutiny; and the only, startling conclusion he could deduce from Timoteo's vague letter. The Tenth Varia leader's kindly eyes hardened.

He knew what he had to do.

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(Owari)

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i) principessa- Italian for 'princess'.

ii)** Cinzia **is the Italian equivalent of 'Cynthia'; possibly derived from 'Kynthia', one of the names of Artemis (Roman goddess of the hunt).

iii) **Titus Cornelius Celsus** was of the Roman Empire under Gallienus's reign; during the Crisis of the Third Century. He was reputedly an unremarkable man of good morals, who lived a quiet life -until he was suddenly proclaimed emperor by an important general and the proconsul of his province.

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So, did it fit the prompt? Please remember that if the general consensus agrees a story hasn't matched its prompt, I can always write another -and keep the original on board if it's still liked; of course. So comments, comments!

And please do go and** read** **my next post concerning a special feature **I'm working on; because you all are going to decide how it turns out! ;)


	11. A big thank you!

Hello all! Wow; it's been a few years since I got writing for this fandom now, hasn't it? Things have been quite different since then.

Especially the **10,000+ pageviews and 50+ story alerts** this series has garnered! You guys are really amazing!

So, to commemorate our arrival at the 10th story (update not included) and thank you all for your kindly support, I'll be doing a special release this time! And these will include:

**1. A story from the genre of your choice. **So what will it be? Fluff? Angst? Fluff+ angst? Gen? Seeing as it's a celebration for you all, you get to set the mood.

**2. X27 fanart.** Which will tell a story on its own. Currently under progress; 40-50% complete.

**3. Blast from the past+ look into the future.** A sweet little ficlet about X27 post-canon and an older piece of chibi fanart.

**4. Twenty Questions.** Ask me anything! How I got into this fandom, what X27 means to me, how I write my stories, what I plan for this series in the future; etc. Heck, **you can even conjure an X27 scenario**, and I'll write the continuation. Or personal stuff about me;but then that's a waste of a question… n_nU

**5. An X27 douji translation. **Found a few X27 Chinese doujins lately. I don't do translations very often; so my skills are probably rusty, but I'll give it my best shot! ;D

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**Please vote for 1. & post your question for 4. by commenting! **I'll only answer the first 20 questions posted, unless there are particularly interesting ones, which I'll add (or extremely offensive ones in the first 20, which I'd rather skip). See you all soon!


	12. Long Way Home Pt 1

Alright guys, finally! Sorry for the long wait. Anyway, this is the first installment of the five features I promised.

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**Title: Long Way Home (1/3)**

**Genre: family, drama,** **fluff, angst**

**Warning: PG-15 **for** swearing **and** mildly graphic elements of gore.**

**Summary: Life does not have to be beautiful to be perfect; nor is it always perfect when it's beautiful.**

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**Theme song:** Cloud Atlas "Sextet" (Piano instrumental)

**Prompt filled: **ghost

For **puruku **and my dedicated, professional beta, **Shiary**. Thank you both for your thoughtful feedback and unerring support.

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_Dame tu mano Paloma (Give me your hand, dove)_

_Para subir a tu nido (So I can climb to your nest)_

_Maldicha que duermes sola (You're unlucky to sleep alone: )_

_Vengo a dormir contigo_ _(I'll come to sleep with you.)_

-"En La Mar", Cécile Corbel

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The minute he stirred and slid open bleary eyes, his Hyper Intuition screamed of something being drastically different.

Not that he needed the heads up. It wasn't every day you woke up to your mother sitting across from you; preoccupied with the pictures that lined your dresser. Especially not looking a day over thirty five when she'd already been dead for as many years.

He was certain he was supposed to shout, jump out of bed, question his sanity or check his medications; and not feel this nostalgia. Except he was no longer at an age for any shouting and jumping, and he was absolutely positive that taking Isoptin with coffee didn't give you hallucinations. That, and the fact seven decades of his friends hadn't quite driven him into senility –yet.

Besides, he'd heard that some people don't live that long after their spouses die. And it had already been fifteen winters.

So he sat up carefully and greeted his mother politely like he'd been brought up to (which, he'd conveniently forgot, in much of his teenage years). And he asked, "Is it time yet?" like they're only going for a walk and she got up earlier.

And she said, "No, we have a few more hours."

So he did the next proper thing you do when you have a guest: he apologised for his state of déshabillé and seated her in the living room, while he washed himself and set out breakfast.

(And somewhere in the middle of gargling, he stopped to look for that faded ring of an extra cup on the sink, but there's not a trace left. It had been fifteen winters.)

Odd how the details came back to you so quickly sometimes; even when they've not been put to use for years. How; the more you wore time on your flesh, the more it flirted with your consciousness. You could forget your shopping list on the way to the store, what you said to your son over the phone; but you'd remember how much vinegar your mother likes in her tamagoyaki, her favourite brand of natto. You could remember noting and learning these little things, one by one; afraid of being unable to master it all within the rapidly disintegrating months of her clock.

(You remembered her holding you to her breast for comfort; remembered lying on another flatter, broader and healthier chest for comfort.)

He sighed as he added the miso. This morning, it seemed, was made for remembrance.

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Apparently, she must not be able to see him wherever she was; their eating was seasoned with questions. How were the children? Had his son married yet? She squealed in delight as he told of weddings and births, laughed when he mentioned Gokudera's temper –the separations and "unexplained disappearances" had no place in their conversation. He, too, asked her, though he was careful never to broach on the subject of what awaited him, lest he broke some taboo. Did Yamamoto manage to locate his father and Squalo? What about Oto-san, Bianchi and Haru? Were they still the same? They went through a whole list of names, and moved to the couch later for photos, but he never mentioned Xanxus.

(There was no need to anyway; he was always there between them, in Nana's searching gaze and behind Tsuna's every word.)

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_They were going to re-pot some of the herbs today._

_Instead, he returned home with the pots; mildly annoyed at Xanxus kicking off his shoes and leaving them as they were again._

_But he was determined not to chide him or feel upset. They were going to re-pot the herbs, have dinner at that new restaurant, and visit Uni for her granddaughter's birthday next week. He'd been thinking of gifting the fiorellino with a furisode, in a shade that should compliment her blonde hair and oceanic eyes beautifully._

_Then he spotted the bills strewn across the kitchen table and frowned._

_That's when he saw the supine body._

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_He still recalled clearly how awkward it was the first time his mother met Xanxus._

_Never had he been so keenly, suddenly aware as he was then, of how tall and buff Xanxus was, how intimidating he could seem. He'd also completely forgotten the kind of fear those scars and unholy eyes could instil in others, how easy it could be to interpret hostility in that unsmiling face. The cheerful, petite lady next to him couldn't have been a greater difference._

_The contrast must've been just as uncomfortable for his partner too, if the expressionless stiffness was any indication. In fact…..even his jaw muscles and right eyelid were twitching minutely from sheer discomfort. _

_Tsuna thought he'd never seen anything more adorable._

_(Alright, puppies and non-gun-toting babies were, but this was _Xanxus.)

_(If only he could take a shot and frame it. He would find a secret niche for it in his albums.)_

_Luckily, Sawada Nana seemed to think him cute too, as she pulled his hand and exclaimed happily; the suddenness making Xanxus yelp. (Or, as he would later insist, produce a sound that could be mistaken for a yelp. Either way Tsuna still had to stifle a laugh.)_

_So it wasn't the chaotic ambulance ride, the overwhelming tide of incomprehensible medical jargon, or the long wait that broke his calm. It was the lightness of the hand in his grasp post-surgery, the memory of how large and heavy it was in his mother's, and the revelation of how it was _not this time, _not _now (not yet) _that finally extricated his sobs._

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Like _every other parent, child, sibling, friend or spouse that'd discovered mortality, he became a lot more careful with the volatile man after._

_But this was Xanxus they were talking about, who of course did not let him. It wasn't one of their full-blown arguments, but it was no discussion either. There was certainly no compromise in the Varia retiree's tone when he mentioned not being phony or treating him like some invalid shit; and if that didn't get the message across there was still his flinty countenance._

_And the seasons Tsuna had spent decoding Xanxus, which tell him: I want your scratchy hair, your undiscriminating concern for others and your overthinking. I want your prudishness, your liver spots and hyper-reactivity. _

_I want everything._

_Tsuna just kept silent and listened; to both the icy rant and the unspoken. When Xanxus was done lecturing, he smiled and drew the man into his arms. _

_(And perhaps his fingernails dug a little too tightly into the solid back; he drew breath a little too long from where his temple rested in Xanxus's shirt. _

_In any case, this was as good an occasion as any for the embraced man to feign ignorance.)_

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They didn't exactly run out of things to say –there was thirty-five years' worth to catch up on –but it was one of those lulls in their chatter when Nana pulled out a curious little sundial from her dress and declared, "Oh my, look at the time! We must get going."

Tsuna didn't bother to remark on what he hadn't mentioned earlier as he gathered his cane. Those extra minutes he took to bend down and tie his shoes would give him away anyway.

"It's the kneecap, isn't it."

He nodded, standing. There was no "It's fine; I'll be good," on his lips; no further invitation for unwanted pity. Instead, the words sounded in the gentle tap of his cane as he opened the door and gestured into the last vestiges of spring.

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_The Varia patch must've ripped off mid-delivery (such inefficiency), and they'd misspelled 'Xanxus'. They weren't small-fry though, not even the best of those could kidnap the Varia head _and _challenge the Vongola. On that last, the note had been crystal._

_And if it wasn't, the hoarse curses and snarling screams rattling their sound system also sufficed._

_Tsuna never thought he would ever see the Varia and his guardians populate the same room quietly. Neither had he imagined Gokudera feeling anything close to empathy for Xanxus. That might be due to the sight of flesh though, all vivid, pockmarked and exposed; flashing large over the screen under a combination of sandpaper and glass dust. Which was not unlike the acid burns the Storm had acquired over his forearm a year ago. _

_Another enraged, wet howl was cut off. Reborn's face was as unaffected as ever even though he was the one who clicked the remote._

_(But not Lambo's, Tsuna realised. For him, shock, nausea and horror had gone to war. And there was a very miniscule but present grain to smile about there; just, not now._

_Not right after he'd watched the video, and was still holding onto its main star's bloody coat.)_

_And the cold, aftershock-silence was precisely what gave him the right amount of reprieve to be sure –he wasn't angry._

_He was _livid.

_Maple eyes closed, opened. Turned back to Sawada Tsunayoshi's, the man who moved his fists as if in prayer._

"_What do we know of this new famiglia, Yamamoto?" He picked up his teacup, and the collective tension dissolved._

_The mentioned man blinked but recovered the fastest. "It seems they've been setting up shop in the coastal cities. Drugs and money laundering, mostly. And children." He winced. "Genoa's the main base, but the officials of its neighbours have been rather receptive to greasing in recent years." Squalo sneered; a sharp look from Reborn killed off the retort. "Savona and La Spezia are practically in their hands now." _

"_I see. Send word to Mukuro requesting his speediest return._ _Squalo, I'll need you to marshal your men from the nearest areas, have them checked into nearby towns and shanties as discreetly as possible. Gokudera-kun, Chrome, please assist him in coordinating the information. _Every _scrap of intelligence you find on their operations; the exact establishments, amount of manpower for each and blueprints of their layouts, everything you can find._

_I want the stats the day after, by three o' clock."_

_Some sat, stunned. A few fidgeted in discomfort. Those orders had not implied a physical assault. A shortage of manpower, a famiglia could recover from, so long as it did not involve the utter elimination of its core. But targeting the economic lifeblood of a small-sized famiglia, one with no powerhouses among its allies, could very well spell its annihilation. After all, it was the guns and bread that built empires. And in the whole of Tsuna's pre-induction, one-year rule, the __heir__ had always taken pains to avoid such confrontations –it didn't exactly bode well for external relations if you were perceived as oppressive and arrogant._

_Until now._

"_About time you woke up, baka-Tsuna."_

_A mirthless smile arose at that nostalgic moniker. "On the contrary, Reborn. _

_I was only hoping to stay away from this course as long as possible."_

_Because he wasn't stupid, or naïve either. Sawada Tsunayoshi might move his fists as if in prayer, but the child who was adamant about keeping his hands clean was gone._

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**(to be continued)**

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**Notes:**

**Isoptin:** hypertension medicine.

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**Tamagoyaki:** a type of Japanese omelette

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**Miso:** a kind of seasoning. Usually added in soups after they're cooked to preserve the live cultures.

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**Fiorellino:** An Italian endearment, means "little flower".

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**Furisode:** a formal style of kimono worn by unmarried women.

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**Heir:** my headcanon– Vongola's heirs traditionally undergo a prelim, one-year rule before they are officially installed as dons. An evaluative measure, also aids the candidates in gaining experience.


	13. Long Way Home Pt 2

**Title: Long Way Home (2/3)****  
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_It's not what you'd call a Pyrrhic victory. Even with Xanxus as their bargaining chip, there was too vast a gap in technology and human resources. But being abruptly cornered by feeds of his businesses burning while legendary assassins surrounded the building could leave a man too desperate. Too ready to pull you down along with him. So these sort of standoffs might be better made for the movies, and yet._

_(And yet, Tsuna did not dodge his last lunge in time, despite the two-second warning from his Hyper Intuition.)_

_But what injured him more, as he and an unconscious Xanxus were whisked away, were the flashes of twisted hatred on their defeated faces; his own corrosive weariness._

_Maybe they never did understand whom they tried to take on, just as he himself cannot truly guess at the pain wrought by his judgement. _

_Too late now. Everything had just started._

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_In the weeks ahead, the Vongola would have their hands full with strained inter-famiglia connections; at the moment they were more preoccupied with their bosses' predicaments._

_Xanxus was severely dehydrated; with a broken nose, rope burns and a dire need for skin grafts over some areas. _

_Tsuna was diagnosed with a busted kneecap that may affect his mobility –permanently._

_The Varia head, of course, did not find out. Until after he gained consciousness, until after he could walk. Until, on the day he was discharged, the well-meaning nurse asked if he would like to see his friend –who was still doing physiotherapy._

_Xanxus screamed at him, _why.

_Tsuna, battered and sweaty and torn, still answered._

Because you matter.

Never think that you don't matter to me. Or your father.

_Xanxus shouted, swore up a storm and stormed out._

_(Which was why Tsuna did not question why he suddenly found himself aboard a plane to Alabama for a mysteriously-financed meeting with one of the world's best orthopaedic surgeons.)_

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.

_And still they did not occur, not right after._

_When Tsuna hit his twenties the next summer, dressed to the nines for the _official_ Inheritance Ceremony, Xanxus was still resentful but calm._

_(and did not love him)_

_When Tsuna was twenty-two, having truly grown into his role, Xanxus began noticing everything those earliest impressions of fear and incompetence had drowned. The don would be nearing twenty-three before they started dating (because Tsuna refused to be a fuck-buddy, and it took Xanxus four months to even admit he felt anything). He was twenty-five when they moved in together, and by then questioning the man's intentions no longer seemed to make sense._

_Thing is, after that they'd gotten _comfortable._ Just because he knew things like what Xanxus preferred to eat, what he always read first in the papers and how he arranged his clothes, Tsuna forgot that he did not know everything, could not presume everything about him. Xanxus never did forget; he didn't have that kind of luxury, but he made up with the lack of communication. _

_And it was always the Vongola or Varia first; they were leaders before lovers. Which wasn't bad essentially, except they were disappearing from each other's schedules: dinners, conversations, outings, sparring, post-it notes….from a river, to a stream, to a trickle._

_A period._

_Like everything that could be looked forward to had already been plundered._

_Somewhere between their fifth big row and his first night back at the Vongola mansion, Tsuna packed up his toothbrush or clothes, and they did not return with him the next morning. _

_(And that flow of things, to the HQ from their apartment, certainly did not stay a trickle.)_

* * *

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.

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_Ironically, it took his most vehement supporter to bring him to his senses._

_Tsuna was lunching while listening to Gokudera rationalise his leaving Xanxus. He supposed this was to make him feel better, since he didn't, even though it wasn't technically his fault. The man wasn't even listening to reason anymore._

_Which didn't mean he felt them fitting though, the words that leapt brilliantly stinging from the voice of his Storm. They were truthful: arrogant; demanding; bad-tempered; alcoholic ...his astute friend did not miss a single one of them. But there was something implacably _wrong, _something about balancing these labels with the image of Xanxus in his head that, that;_

hurt_._

_He breathed through his nose, and the moment for sighing went, un-expelled._

_Then his throat closed, but this was not the place, dammit, nor the right person. And he was the Vongola Don, tearing up at the wrong occasion could have far-reaching consequences._

_So he summoned enough willpower to excuse himself, and only let flow the drips of liquid salt in the safety of the toilet. And here was his chance to be free, to be angry, to be childish, so he clenched his fists, screams gritted behind his teeth, and punched the wall._

_Why? Why? Why?_

_Why did it have to be like this? Was this all there was to them after all? All they could ever be? Hadn't they _promised_, noiselessly, that it wouldn't be them, not this, not something so horribly petty and common when they'd been through so much more? And _why_, when it hadn't started easy for them; when it had demanded so much courage and so much work? _

_Surely it wasn't the shortage of _want_. Even now, he still had enough of that left over in him to feel empty and sore._

_And he was tired already, was since long ago, but not yet ready for this. He still can't fit himself into this new universe, forget Xanxus's name ever meant anything but business. The worst part had to be how he wasn't even sure he wanted to move on; to try and look back at those glances and roundabout words, the wary, restrained touches, as if they weren't ever important at all. The little things that were not there but were there because of his Hyper Intuition; that had built their thirty-seven months together. They now ran his nights ragged and froze his appetite, and still, it's their sanctity he recalled. He knew it was pure, stubborn foolishness, paid for it bitterly; and still, some part of him held on._

So why can't you?

_Sienna eyes turned inwards. _

I can't. It's over.

Why can't you?_ An internal voice insisted._

_Frustration lashed out. _That's _stupid_! Because; because–

_Then it hit:_

_There was no reason he couldn't._

_Because if the rumours of Xanxus's increased alcohol consumption was true,_ _neither of them could be satisfied with ending it like this. He had merely assumed there could be no starting over; he had gotten it wrong._

_And that was where Gokudera's words had hurt: they were unfair just as they were truthful. They encompassed one side of his lover, when his memories reminded him of so much more. Of Xanxus, frugal; Xanxus, a resigned realist; Xanxus, grudgingly, bitingly gentle; Xanxus, earth-shatteringly, angrily vulnerable._

Xanxus.

_His calves flexed, willing him to go to where the man was but it's too much; he was simultaneously exhilarated and _exhausted.

_He walked out of that bathroom composed, bruised knuckles in his pocket; it's only later in the car,_ _once the partition goes up that he slumped against Gokudera's shoulder._

"_Gokudera-kun?" "Yes?" "Thank you." The silver-haired man raised his eyebrow. _

"_Anytime, Jyuudaime, anytime."_

_(And it took a day more of careful planning before he winded up in front of that familiar door, but their world_ _had reset in that instant.)_

* * *

**.**

**(to be continued)**

**.**

**Sienna: **a type of brown. Tsuna's eyes are a shade called 'raw sienna'.


	14. Long Way Home Pt 3

**Title: Long Way Home (3/3)**

* * *

.

It was a little hard to accept, a little amusing to recollect now, the kind of significances that had driven all that passion and turmoil.

He used to daydream of this kind of peace and routine stability then. A few hours to himself, so he could wake up like he had all the time in the world. To be able to get used to that feeling. He'd looked forward to that; assumed it would be bliss.

And it was, he guessed. It had been restful, and he had been content. He was deeply glad nonetheless, for his young, pre-cancer mother walking in front; no shadow beneath her silhouette.

He was done with having all the time in the world.

* * *

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.

.

_They didn't always have time for each other. Sometimes, they were so busy they just fell asleep beside the other as soon as they got home, without a word. But somewhere in the night they'd reach for each other, somehow, and from there a leg will curl over and a body will bend, so that by morning they'd wake up intertwined; one big and cosy jumble. _

_And they still argued. Snits. Tiny cold wars strewn, over trivial things like tie colours and handwritten reports. Incredibly angry fights; destruction of expensive furniture even when they brought their disagreements from work home. And Xanxus would go out for an angry drive, leaving Tsuna to fix and eat dinner alone, but not before the latter called someone first to put up a roadblock –near a bar or hotel, where his partner could spend the night safer. And Xanxus, drunk and reeking of booze, might find it occasionally in his imbibed mind to break into a greenhouse or uproot someone's garden, so that when Tsuna woke up there'd be his favourite blossoms scattered all over the floor, along with dirt and a snoring Xanxus. And he would sigh as he got up, four hours before his partner would–to fresh coffee, aspirin and a vase full of now properly-arranged crocuses._

_Strangely enough, there was no need to ask for forgiveness._

* * *

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.

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_And there were days when Xanxus came home perfectly spotless, but the reports preceding him overflowed with blood. _

_He would walk up those steps, aura and expression embodying exactly what everyone feared; because, they whispered, between their cups of espressos and behind closed doors, wasn't that what he was? A monster?_

_Sure, he was good-looking; intelligent; he had a charm of his own –if you'd the taste for that sort. But this was the _Varia_, who killed and tortured men like so many cockroaches. Who'd tried to upturn the Vongola and exterminate the current Generation._

_He was _Xanxus.

_Which neither the two subjects of the speculation cared for. The assassin knew what he was to Tsunayoshi; he didn't need to listen to these gossiping _hypocrites_. _

_And yes, he _enjoyed_ killing lesser shits. He tasted thrill at their screams, loved the rush of bashing their skulls in. He never spared any attention to their final, pathetic pleas (_lies_) of family as he punished those who'd dared cross his_ _(these men who kept fathering unwanted children, unwanted)*. In their world, vendetta was law, and it wasn't as if any of them were saints to begin with. Not even his pristine, morally-integral lover was exempt._

_So he was a monster. Big, fuckin' _deal.

_Which didn't justify how his muscles tightened up, and all killing intent escaped him when Tsunayoshi's scrutiny greeted him at the doorstep, even though he gave nary a flinch._

_He also didn't get why his mouth would flood with meaningless words, but they were never said and so _didn't exist_, even if he had to choke to death on them._

(I'm sorry you have to live with this.)

_He didn't _need _them, because they were also in Tsunayoshi's eyes as well, and the taut shape of his jaw._

(I'm sorry I couldn't be strong enough, good enough to stop needing you for this.)

_Suddenly he almost wanted to laugh, despite the situation's seriousness._

_Because weren't they just a bunch of idiots?_

* * *

_._

_._

_._

_They retired concurrently; Xanxus as he finally acquired reading glasses and Tsuna a few months after. They'd already elected to settle into their Pienza vacation home, leaving everything to charity and their only child, save the farewell gifts and a few priceless mementos. Xanxus was stretching out his kinks, and Tsuna arranging_ _Bertrando's old Father's Day cards on the fridge –the men had just moved in their new (cheaper) furniture –when he heard, "You know, you _really _gotta wonder how in the fuck we managed to get here."_

_The younger (not young, but younger) man snorted and continued to decorate; a soft, brightened cast to his lips._

* * *

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.

.

"I don't, actually, hah; hav't' _jump_, d-do I?"Tsuna panted, eyeing the side of the hill with no small apprehension.

Nana laughed. "No, Tsu-kun! Just…come over here. Sit." They sat at the foot of a tree some ways from the edge; the scent of early poppies tentative in the sleepy breeze. "It should be any minute now. But don't be afraid, ok? Kaasan's here," she whispered, smoothing his hair which, thinning and grey-shot white as it was, still sprung up everywhere. Tsuna tried to nod, but was stopped by a twinge in his chest. Of course, the long walk and climb. How fitting he should re-join his significant other by dying the same way.

And maybe, because this was as close as he'd ever felt to Xanxus in fifteen years, he finally asked, "How…is he?" and dared turn hopeful eyes to his mother.

Who hesitated. _Never_ had his mother's gentleness filled him with such apprehension, as it did now. Because Xanxus might not be the best person; he's no hero or martyr, but it isn't _fair_, it's isn't; hasn't he been trying hard enough for nearly _fifty years?_

"No, Kami, please, no, that's not _right–"_ He gripped her forearm, suddenly stronger than a frail old man.

"Shh, shh; it's alright, Tsu-kun." She soothes him hurriedly, thumbs brushing over leathery cheeks. "He's there, waiting. He just wanted me to tell you he's sorry it took so long to come and get you."

As it turned out, it had been two thousand years there; two thousand years Xanxus spent settling his part of the agreement. Fifteen years in which Tsuna bided, stranded on the human plane, when he could've departed a decade before. All for the impetuous desires of an enfant terrible, who'd practically _demanded _the Powers That Be arrange for him to be there when Tsuna arrived, so he could locate him in the billions of souls, in exchange for two thousand years of labour.

(And Tsuna laughed, somewhat choked; that selfish, selfish _bastard_.)

* * *

.

.

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_For all Tsuna's medical training and all the death they'd witnessed, neither of them were ready (and maybe they were never meant to be)._

_This was the third time his heart did its stop-start, the third time it lost its rhythm. And it did that while Xanxus was shaving, so Tsuna came hobbling to the sound of his electric shaver cracking against the sink. _

_They'd rehearsed this scenario so many times that Tsuna went into auto-pilot. His fingers were rock-steady as he dialled; he was mechanical as he listed the medicines. As he held Xanxus's hand in the ambulance, he was the very picture of collectedness._

_In fact, he couldn't understand why the doctor's face was so grim, as well as the nurse's. They'd been through this already, hadn't they? Twice. He was to sleep over for the next few days, and when Xanxus checked out they'd visit the pier again. _

_And the crocuses would be in full bloom next month._

_And he still wanted to eat Xanxus's awful cooking; to feel his uncomfortably stale breath down the side of his throat. He still wanted to watch mote-filled sunbeams squeeze into his wrinkles and turn into shadow. He still wanted to argue about tired, old topics, to discuss groceries and bills; he found himself suddenly _craving_ everything you needed someone else with the same nostalgia in their eyes to do._

_(And to go to that place they hadn't arrived at yet, where they would have discovered everything about life and each other and grown bored, but there's a lovely warmth and rightness in their _home_ to want.)_

_It was not despair that pushed him to weep himself raw, or hold that hand and press his raining face on that forehead; still-warm. It was _yearning.

* * *

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.

.

_It would always hurt this way. Nothing could remedy the fact he was gone._

_But Tsuna limped, oh so terribly, and wore extra layers during winter for his aching bones. And he has a huge collection of photo albums in his attic, so thick and dusty he doesn't quite move or look at them anymore. Whenever he does, it would strike him: he's old. So were his surviving friends; so were some of the others when they went._

_So was Xanxus._

_And he still had the mental faculties to remember, the sunset on his young, handsome face; the sunrise on his old, handsome one. The increasing candles on both their birthdays; the mild, dear softness that appeared on Xanxus's gut, somewhere in the middle of all Tsuna's hugs. The gazillion of days they'd had and the events in them; with their friends and them two; with their families and them two; and just the two of them._

_Then all he could say or feel over and over again is _thank you_._

Thank you for giving me all of this, for all of them.

For letting me keep him, for the both of us.

Thank you.

* * *

.

.

.

This was what ran through his mind too, as he was swept into oblivion. _Thank you._

* * *

.

.

.

He'd heard that some people didn't live that long after their spouses die, but it had been fifteen winters.

He was also a little dazed at how much photos could lie after too much sunlight and years. How loud his father and Squalo had been, how vibrantly pretty Haru and I-Pin once were. How free Yamamoto's laughter.

Most of all, it was just the sight of Xanxus, straight out of their Spanish wedding, that had him so _squeezed_ his arteries could burst.

But they didn't, and neither did his steps creak, and he was clothed in white again with a sense of wholeness as he approached his waiting family and lover.

* * *

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**(Owari)**

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* * *

**Notes:**

**Pienza**: a town in Tuscany and a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

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**Bertrando:** X27's son in this story. His name means "wise raven".

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**Poppies:** associated with eternal sleep, dreams, consolation, remembrance and resurrection.

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***Basically, "those who dared cross his" means those who'd dare harm his Famiglia.** To Xanxus, his Famiglia IS his family, in both senses of the word (especially since Tsuna became his husband). I also see him as someone with a lot of issues. Which is why he considers all his victims' pleas of family as lies...because to him, they're also unfaithful, irresponsible men who keep fathering unwanted, bastard children and abandoning them. EVERY single one of those men.

[This is my headcanon for him in this AU -that he IS actually tied to the Vongola Secondo, through some distantly-related mafioso who kept his mother as a mistress for some time before dumping her. So he's always been born into the mafia, but...boy, does he have a lot of baggage from the word 'father'.]

(might explain why he over-reacted at discovering he was unrelated to Timoteo too; this man whom he'd realised wasn't his father, but whom he'd hoped was an uncle, grandfather; anything, anything...but was NOTHING.)

(lies lies lies lies)

(including his dreams; all his dreams hung up on this sonuvabitch, lying old man's promises, his sweat and blood and -all LIES.)

...Yup yup. That basically sums up his psyche -at least, from one point of view. Many ways of portraying this guy.

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* * *

**Author's Updates:**

1. Features 2 & 3- two pieces of **X27 fanart**. All done now; but haven't the time to ink/ edit yet. Here are the photos if you'd like a **preview **(shot using my camera phone, sorry about the quality):

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[just delete the spaces in the link]

i. 4 scenes with TYL! Xanxus and 14 YO Tsuna: : s t a. s h / 01pqth5yk8ic /

ii. 6 scenes and 1 chibi with present day X27: s t a. s h / 08u4jjrc7du /

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2. Feature 4- **character/ pairing study of X27.** The '20 Questions' thing didn't take, so I thought I might as well post my interpretation of X27 and their dynamics. (But don't worry, puruku, I'll still answer your question when I post this.)

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3. Feature 5- **X27 doujin scanlation.** Translation halfway done, **looking for someone to help me substitute the speech in the bubbles.** I can't Photoshop to save my own life.

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4. **Chapter 8, 'Emancipate' has been rewritten.**

* * *

Well, that's it for now. Sorry if the writing was awkward at some points, my beta's currently ill and I've been staring at this fic for _way_ too long to form an objective view of it anymore. So it'll definitely be helpful if you could review. :)

Hope you enjoyed. Till next time!


	15. A Character or Pairing Study for X27

**Title: Character/ Pairing Study of X27 (or 'How I Got Into X27')  
**

Note:** This is only my own analysis of X27.** **It is by no means exhaustive, or the only way to portray these two. I'm sure many of my more gifted peers can produce more compelling interpretations.**

.

Beta: Shiary

* * *

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To be honest, I actually started out hating Xanxus's guts.

Especially after Timoteo was unearthed from the Gola Mosca. Boy, if I had been viewing Xanxus with cold dislike before, I was caught in a fit of righteous rage and raring at Tsuna to teach him a lesson after that. And if someone had told me at this point that I would ship him with Tsuna (whom I'd not set up with anyone yet), would, in fact,_ still_ be shipping them 4 years later, there was no way I would have believed it.

Then came the revelation during the Sky Battle.

Granted, I still couldn't like him or disregard his nature, but by the end of the Varia arc, I'd at least understood his motives, forgiven him a little –pitied him.

Because here was this twisted, arrogant and angry man, pissed at the world and ready to kill/ remove anything that defied his cruel worldview and principles. And I think we saw hints of brittle vulnerability in him, during that scene where he was shouting about how he didn't need Nono's fatherly love because it wouldn't make him the heir. So there may or may not be some old, terrible wound/ suppressed trauma that:

A) came from his childhood. His mom looked pretty messed up herself, and anything could've happened in the slums.

OR

B) came from the earliest stages of his exposure to the bloodshed and backstabbing in the Mafia/ Varia. The things he had to do and the things he saw others do.

If he was young enough, impressionable enough then, he might have once seen the position of the don as a 'way out'. As someone who never had actual blood on his hands, who would never face the humiliation of the lower ranks, who always, always _acted of his own free will_ and commanded immense respect. Because he still hadn't understood the ways of the world, the ways of their world. Not yet.

(Although original reasons were lost, and the Vongola seat became power, honour and the best proof of his worth after that.)

Even if he didn't have any emotional scars, being surrounded by violence, deceit and torture day in day out as an assassin would do a number on anyone's psyche.

Enter Tsuna, his antithesis.

Who was wimpy, cowardly, frail-looking and failed at everything he did (grades, sports etc.). Which meant he'd earned Xanxus's contempt and scorn at first glance.

But what had probably enraged the Varia leader all the more was the fact Tsuna was GOOD. More than that, he was good _despite_ everything that happened to him. Bullied all his life; no future to speak of; father missing most of the time. Then forced to join the Mafia and had his life screwed over by a sadistic tutor. And let's not forget how he'd no friends beforehand.

But somehow this kid had no complaints, no resentment towards his life or other people. He was scared, he had regrets, but no anger or hatred. He still had his morals, still trusted and loved people easily despite being hurt so often; still retained a fucking _naiveté_. Xanxus could've have thought, "Just what the hell is wrong with this kid?"

(Just how the hell are you so different?)

So everything in him screams to corrupt this brat, this stupid little good-for-nothing shit. Which is why he was so darn fucking HAPPY when he'd indirectly made Tsuna injure Timoteo through the Gola Mosca; soiled the kid's hands a bit. And of course, after that, he was going to kill him.

(Then everything will be alright; and there wouldn't exist this freak, this abnormality in some corner of his world anymore.

Like all of those times before. )

...only, he fails.

Not only does he, one of the strongest fighters in the world, fail to end a fourteen-year-old civilian, his past and the makeup of his soul is bared to the child in an instant.

(is understood by the child in an instant)

Xanxus must've been LIVID.

(And confused and unable to forget and maybe just a little bit unsettled)

So he hates him. He stays away from him, yet he can never stay away from him. Their roles in the Vongola and Tsuna's presence as an enigma won't let him.

(and all that anger has to go someday, or it'll destroy him)

This is where Tsuna comes in: timid enough, soft and unassertive enough 75% of the time, that he doesn't threaten Xanxus's ego (even if he does annoy him). Yet strong enough to stay alive in their dark world, around that man without being done in. Radiant enough, and unshakable enough on the inside to prove Xanxus wrong, to be his moral compass and emotional support. Kind enough to care for him too, with a bonus Hyper-Intuition to guess at his real moods under that perpetual cover of rage.

I don't ship Xanxus x Tsuna because they're hot. I ship them because they complement each other, and are imperfectly perfect.

They're like this dramatised, KHR-version of what love is like in real life: how you don't always fall for your ideal type, how you're forever different despite the similarities, how you'll always argue and have parts to each other that you can't agree with/ annoys you.

(But at the end of the day, there's no one else who can be what he/ she is to you.)

That's what X27 means to me.

* * *

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**Reader's Q & A: **_**W**__**hat is your favorite scenario for a X27 fanfic?**_

Oh, tough question; that. While I don't have a strict preference for any setting, per say, what I'd LOVE to see in a X27 fanfic is:

1. **a clash of Tsuna and Xanxus's morals/ beliefs**.

Since they're such polar opposites –Tsuna being forgiving, merciful and trusting; Xanxus cynical, intolerant and violent –this is bound to happen sooner or later in their relationship. To make this fandom well-rounded and justifiable against the slur of us fujioshi entertaining delusions, it is necessary that a fanfic depicting them tackling this struggle head on –and, more importantly, _surviving_ it as a couple –exists.

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2. **their relationship building from ground zero.**

Same reasons. (Unfortunately, I've not written one for either scenario as of yet, even though I've been playing with ideas….confidence issues, dear readers, confidence issues.)

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3. **their relationship in the bigger, more hectic picture of life.**

Because love in real life happens that way: amidst work and duties, other equally important relationships, the emotional baggage both parties bring to the table, the unforeseeable challenges of life in general –the conflicts that may arise from each aspect. How these build and tear down a bond simultaneously, render it smaller but no less vital. It'll be a monumental task to write a fic like this –especially since X27's lives are far more complicated than the ordinary person's –but the end result would be worth it.

* * *

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That said, I've** something I've wanted to say to everyone for a while now. **And** maybe you'll never read another fic of mine again after this, but I don't care so long as you read it:**

.

**Please DO NOT base your beliefs about romance on my fics.**

Because it's come to my attention after interacting with some readers, that a few have some very disturbing ideas about bad boys. How they're all nursing broken hearts and are actually good people deep, deep down underneath…and would somehow be 'healed' again after the many, incredible sacrifices of their romantic partner.

Sorry to burst your bubble, dears, but **life does not work that way.**

Because even if they used to be nice people who got screwed over by life, the reality is, they're _screwed up_. **Being in a positive, nurturing relationship might help, but it's not a magic bullet.** It's gonna take years of therapy and support from many more people besides one person to patch a broken psyche together again –and that's if the center of all this attention even _wants_ to change.

**And even if they do care for you, it's no guarantee they won't hurt you. **Some of these folk have been subjected to abuse in other relationships supposedly based on love. To them, being hurt by someone close to them –and hurting someone close to them –is a norm. Remorse and self-hatred might ensue after they abuse someone, but the damage remains, and will likely happen again. A recently established bond, however important, has NOTHING on a person's self-destructive tendencies or years of Pavlovian habit. Any counselor for abused persons can tell you that.

And that's only _supposing _ifthey care for you, or have something messed up in there that_ can_ be fixed. **Sadly, some people are just sociopathic, egocentric or manipulative**. They DON'T need a reason, much less a tragic past, to be who they are. The only way to change this lot is therapy or a taste of their own medicine –not another heart they don't deserve.

**Also, X27 is different. **Tsuna has tons of people who love him and care for him. His mother, his friends, Kyoko & Haru, Timoteo, Uni…..the list goes on. Hell; even his dad and _Reborn_ give a damn about him in their roundabout ways. So he has this huge safety net to fall back on if his relationship with Xanxus experiences setbacks –or fails.

Besides, he's more than capable of beating Xanxus to a pulp if the man tried to hit/ rape him. He has a Hyper Intuition to guide him on what to do. He also has an amazing core of strength, courage and determination –after all, how many people can face down the odds he did, or madmen/ murderers like Mukuro, Xanxus, Daemon, Bermuda and Byakuran? Certainly not your average person.

And even if he doesn't have the heart to leave or fend off Xanxus? Iemitsu. Reborn. Enma, Basil, Dino, Yamamoto, Ryohei and Gokudera combined would ensure that Xanxus never stands a chance.

**I'm not trying to act like a know-it-all. And I really hate having to press my opinions on anyone. **But there's a reason why I can write people like Xanxus the way I do. It would kill me if I was in any way responsible for encouraging someone to enter an abusive relationship.

So, to all readers concerned, please, give it a thought.

(*sighs)

* * *

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On another note, it's down to** a week before my exams** now. So I'll have to take it easy on writing/ drawing for a while. Looks like June's gonna be a slow month; sorry. Just hang in there, ok? ;)

Thanks for reading thus far!


	16. Papa Knows Best

Was more busy with fanarts this month, and had minor writer's block, but thank god I still made it in time. Thanks again to beta **Shiary**-san for her hard work!

* * *

**Title: Papa Knows Best**

**Genre: Fluff, family**

**Rating: PG**

**Warning: Overexposure to fluff may trigger one's gag reflex.**

**Summary: How Iemitsu missed the old days.**

* * *

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Sawada Tsunayoshi, three-and-a-half years old, let his heels touch the ground as he stepped back and surveyed his work. The pillows looked comfy enough to him, but just in case, it was better to confirm: "Touchan, touchan! Are the pillows fluffy now?"

The blond hulk of a man smiled down with a comic sappiness as he nodded. "Mm-hmm! They're the fluffiest pillows in the world because they're fiiiilllled with Tsu-chan's love!"

"That's great!" responded the child with matching enthusiasm, which faded as quickly as he moved up the next rung of his thoughts. "This means you won't die now, right?" Irises the shade of butterscotch quickly became watery and speared Iemitsu, point-blank, with their innocent hope.

'_Maybe I shouldn't have lied to him like that,'_ was his guilty thought, but it had been heavenly to have his darling baby dote on him. What was that English proverb? Love, war.

He shook his head. "Nope. Tsu-chan's efforts have saved me! How about a kiss?"

"Okay!" And with that tiny lips met a stubbled cheek, completing a scene sugary enough to incapacitate an elephant.

* * *

"How 'bout a kiss?"

"No way in hell, deadbeat dad."

"Oh, my Tsu-kun is so cruel! All grown-up now and too busy having fun with his boyfriend that he forgets all about his poor, loving daddy–"

"Dad!" The thirteen year old flung his hands up exasperatedly as his ears combusted to the very tips. "I just went to the store, _three blocks away_, for your flu meds, heated you some chicken stew and fluffed up your pillows! Can I _go_ now?!" The taller boy at the door reinforced the plea with a glare that said (no, threatened), _yes, Iemitsu had better permit him_.

He might as well have beamed from the way the man-child ignored him. "Not before a hug!" It was only as Tsuna complied huffily, his face hidden from Iemitsu's that the latter flashed the hostile intruder a nasty smirk. Who responded with an acidic sneer.

All of which evaporated respectively into vapid cheer and a bored fingernail inspection in an instant.

"Bye, be safe! Have fun! And don't forget to call every hour!" ("_DAD_!") And to his rival in Tsuna's affections, his infamous gaze: _My men will be watching you. _Xanxus bit back a shiver.

The CEDEF leader drew particular satisfaction from hearing the cocky brat's voice float faintly up the stairs, fifteen seconds later: "Tsuna, are you sure your dad's really a construction worker?"

"Yup, why?"

He softened a chuckle and–quite capably–readjusted his blankets.

That little punk had better behave.

Oregano had been itching to test if it was worth substituting her trusty old rifle with one of the newest make.

* * *

.

(Owari)

.

* * *

The basis of this AU is: **what if Xanxus's mother never managed to bring him to Timoteo? What if she died en-route?**

My answer to that is Xanxus got placed in Italian orphanage, was adopted and raised in a normal, loving family. So he grew up an uppity, antagonistic, brilliant but utterly sane and ordinary teenager. Xanxus's adoptive family then moved to Namimori, where he met Tsuna at 15, and they began dating after a series of tutoring lessons and bizarre escapades.

Thus begins Xanxus's arduous journey to defeat Tyr and become the Varia leader, starting from that fateful day when Tsuna meets a baby hitman one year later…

* * *

Speaking of which, I've included an **update of upcoming projects at the bottom of my profile**. Bar my monthly update for 'Liger's Piece of Sky', these will be the ones most likely posted in the future.


	17. Awaited

**Title: Awaited**

**Pairing: Blink-and-you'll-miss-it X27 (*dodges rotten eggs)**

**Genre: Gen, family**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: An answer twenty years in the making.**

* * *

To Dad. You might not be there most of the time, but I love you anyway.

* * *

.

When Timoteo had been plopped unexpectedly (willingly, but unexpectedly) into the lap of fatherhood, he had not anticipated the entire_ world_ that would follow.

He had led an internationally-connected organisation of complex structural relations and questionable legality. Had promoted the very best to the forefront of its ranks; forged strong bonds with powerful allies; guided them all to mutual goals through a storm of personal vendettas and differences. But nothing could not prepare him for this see-sawing between a firm expectance of obedience and gentle understanding. His men had always accepted his orders and counsel, ultimately, based on respect, trust and his heritage's mandate. His enemies may not be as obliging, but he had a fair grasp of their sentiments, desires and perceptions, and could consequently, play upon them. The rest could be swayed by charisma and benefit.

And here was a child who nursed an enduring urge to challenge him, but nevertheless had to learn to value the things Timoteo did–discipline, excellence, loyalty and so forth–of his own steam. Here was a mentally and emotionally immature being, whom he could not always reason with; whose lonely, unloved fragility required healing affection–an affection that wouldn't be taken as weakness. Here was a little boy for whom the Vongola don could not be a distant figure, because he needed to know there was someone he could turn to–even if spending time together demanded energy and time Timoteo had not in his reserves.

As if that wasn't complex enough, Xanxus was ferociously intelligent. A dog-eat-dog life on the streets had also cultivated in him a suspicious, calculative streak; the mind games, rumour-mongering and flattery inherent of the Mafia only made it worse. At ten, the boy was already aware of the impact of his illegitimate status, where it placed him in the eyes of the Mafiosi, especially among those who either hoped for his seat themselves or backed another heir-candidate. Already, the vicious cycle between angry insecurity and heightened narcissism was beginning to accelerate.

Sometimes, Timoteo's heart broke for his non-existent innocence. Sometimes he blamed himself, in his private, dark moments, for bringing his son into their tainted, manipulative world. Sometimes, he worried; if he had raised him right, if he would fare well–if he could, in a world that fed to his corruption, ever break free of his demons. And there were the little things, like when he came back, bruised all over from his training, or when he was sick. Timoteo hadn't realised he could be such a mother hen before this.

Sometimes, he was immensely proud. Of the child, who wore his suit with a bearing unlike his peers at twelve; who rapidly mastered formal Italian and table etiquette. And sad, for the youngster who asked to sit with him through meetings, and soon posed the most politically shrewd questions. Blissful, watching the lit-up eyes on their first few Christmases and birthdays. Frustrated, at his stubborn cold arrogance. Or, as he found himself bending less and less to hug that stiffened body, awash with unspeakably heavy tenderness.

Timoteo seldom prayed that his famiglia would prosper. That was his job to make sure, his and his Guardians'. Nor did he pray to slow down Xanxus's growth spurts, just so he could keep his son for himself a little longer. Instead, he simply wished, as he knelt and remembered curving over a small frame to whisper good night the same way, that the peace and unconditional acceptance his boy unknowingly searched for would not be too far away.

(Even as tears that could not melt his son's ice prison fell on frosted cheeks, as tears threatened whilst he wrote to a son who avoided him, he prayed.)

(And as tears blurred the sight of his son's expression when Tsunayoshi smiled up at him in the distance, he believed.)

* * *

.

(Owari)

.

* * *

Was listening to Anthony Neely's 'Dear Death' as I typed this. The lyrics don't fit; the melody did. Sublime. (To listen to it, please go for lilpinkfrogtpc's HD vid with English subs on Youtube. Her translation of the lyrics is accurate.)


	18. Manago

This was an old ficlet I'd suddenly dug out of the pile...

* * *

**Title: Manago**

**Genre: Fluff, family**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: One day, he decided, he'd simply keel over and die of embarrassment–and it'll be all his parents' fault.**

* * *

The first thing he'd learnt about himself was that his name had been a matter of contention.

It didn't help that his tousan was oriental. Following the famiglia's rules–that all issue from recognised unions should represent the houses of heir-potentials as best possible–stuck him with a fairly unconventional surname, which, as his parents were to discover, sounded very strange when paired with most Italian first names.

Of course, the first and most obvious choice had been Leo. Practically everyone agreed it was fitting, seeing as both his parents' box weapons were lions, not to mention the parallels between the feline's natural sovereignty and his own birthright to the Vongola throne. However, his tousan had it vetoed, saying it sounded too much like "Leon" (and thus it was upon hearing this that he first understood the depths of his tousan's trauma stemming from all things Reborn). _He_ had suggested the name "Cleo"; thank God his padre had the sense to point out that it sounded like a girl's. The argument then turned quickly to "Theo", "Giotto" (they say padre broke a glass at that, a sign everyone took to hastily move on), "Tignanello" (and here he offered his silent thanks to tousan; he could just imagine the ridicule he'd have faced being named after a vintage), "Alessandro" ("Too much like a flaming peacock", remarked padre, much to Zia Lussuria's indignation)….the list just went on.

It was at this point that Reborn, who had been watching (supervising) the spectacle all along, decided to step in.

So when he came down to it, Sawada Amato could never decide who was really to blame for his name: tousan, padre, or Reborn.

* * *

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(Owari)

.

* * *

Notes:

**Amato- **(Italian) 'beloved'….poor child. (*snickers)

**Manago-** (Japanese) 'beloved son'

**Zia-** (Italian) 'aunt'

**Tignanello-** a renowned "Super Tuscan", a category of high-quality wines not recognised by the DOC and DOCG systems in Italian wine classification

'**Tousan'- **Japanese for "father". **'Padre'** is the Italian equivalent.

* * *

In Ancient China, when a man of lower social status married a woman of a higher class, he could be considered to have "married" into the family, so all children from that union would be given the maternal surname. This was to preserve the "more important" lineage.

Which inspired my **headcanon** of **Vongola's complex surnaming-giving laws**, in which the children of mafia unions immediately assume the surname of the higher-ranked spouse to protect the heritage of powerful houses and ensure equal rights in a contest for inherited positions. If the union consists of two parents with significant rank (e.g. two Guardians; one Guardian and an important representative of an ally family), the children adopt compound-surnames, and chose one of the two (thus the corresponding position) on their 14th birthday. Of course, they may still retain their compound surnames if they so desire. These laws need only apply to those stationed as Guardians or higher.

(Incidentally, the qualifying unions are often not encouraged to have more than two children to prevent feuds between siblings.)

* * *

Will get back to answering your comments soon. Too exhausted for now.


	19. Never Again

After some thought, it was decided that I should post the ...sister ficlets to my fanarts here. (Thus defeating the purpose of drawing them in the first place. TuT) Well, didn't expect these babies to pop up, out of the blue, in the last minute.

By the way, I started the originating fanart for 'Never Again' two-and-a-half years ago, so this is simply a different spin on an old idea.

* * *

**Title: Never Again**

**Pairing: TYL! Xanxus x Present-day Tsuna**

**Genre: Angst**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: They say men mellow as they age. But there are some things he'll never stand for. **

* * *

.

The minute Xanxus received news of Sawada Tsunayoshi's death, his rage had preceded his powers of comprehension. Therefore he never had the chance to wonder _why_ he was angry, if there could be a reason at all. In the end, it had taken all five of his guardians to subdue him, and none escaped unscathed.

It was a very lucky thing the Millifiore attack had only managed to arrive three days later. Very lucky for the Varia indeed.

The hyenas had come, expecting to find a furious but injured animal; logic and calmness shattered. Instead, they were greeted by the opposite. The _demons_ their foolish arrogance had prompted them to hunt were so relentless in their slaughter they did not even spare those who fled or surrendered. It was only as the rain, the mocking, dancing rain, descended and bled away Xanxus's bloodlust that he raised his head and stilled; his subordinates also falling silent.

_Varia leader,_ the rains sighed.

_Varia leader._

Most proficient among the most feared assassins, hefty coffers and immeasurable power. And all he could do was kill one insignificant ant after another, and still they would rise; the maggots. He raised his head and closed his eyes, while the taunting drops sang away.

(And after that something in him became quiet, and his temper would never quite seize his sanity; ever again.)

He drank and drank the week after. And drank and drank and drank. A late celebration, he announced. Come, toast my rival's death. His men obeyed warily, then sipped their single glasses. Their eyes watched with weary knowing as he tumbled closer to alcoholism.

(It took Reborn's condescension and Iemitsu's grieving pity to wake him up. His hair, already untended since an unknown day, was really growing out by then. He decided to keep it even as he threw out the last of the vodka and shaved.)

It was now spring the year after. He will still not say 'I miss you'. He never will. He was Xanxus, and Xanxus took the life that screwed him over and rode it like he anticipated submission. Nevertheless, he spoke to the body he had not seen off even at its funeral, and amidst the gazillion casual insults there might've been a "I'm sorry" and "I forgive you".

* * *

"Play dead again and I'll kill you."

That's all he bothered to utter. This would be the first and last time he met the young brat outside of battle, just before he went home.

Good riddance. Xanxus can't wait to punish his older counterpart. Maybe he understood why he felt this urge now; he couldn't really bring himself to care.

And Tsuna, in that brief second's touch, might have been recoiling in shock from the suddenness...if his Hyper-Intuitive's eyes had not stared at something beyond them, and sparked with instinctive tears.

* * *

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(Owari)

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* * *

Style was partially inspired by Robert Chambers' short story, 'The Prophet's Paradise'.

The **one-page comic this was based on**: sethadmirer. livejournal dot com / 23937 . html (Just take out the spaces in between)


	20. Good Morning

Just remembered: If you liked 'Long Way Home', you might want to check this out: maggiehepburn .tumblr dot com / post/ 12133207623/ a-hundred-years-from-now-youll-look-more

It's** the fic which inspired my story**. Worth reading even if you aren't into the pairing -there's something to be said about a oneshot that can leave me moist-eyed. Literally.

* * *

**Title: Good Morning**

**Genre: Fluff**

**Rating: PG**

**Summary: The morning after.**

* * *

Tsuna dabbed his face clean and blinked at the mirror. The expression that greeted him hardly did justice to the depth of his nervousness. For a moment, it almost felt as if he was back in high school again, trying to dredge up his courage to behave naturally around Kyoko.

_As if_, his wry mind answered. _Xanxus would kill you if he realised you'd just compared him to anything feminine._

But that was missing the point. Their affairs had been going on so smoothly, falling into easy habit-just discreet meet-ups for casual sex, no strings attached-when all of sudden, _this _had happened.

_All of sudden? _

Tsuna paused to consider that. Had he suspected something like this? Yes. Had he actually expected it to occur? No.

He would have been fool to miss the comfortable morning routine they'd gradually established, fool to miss the way he no longer feared the man or how there were less barbs behind Xanxus's insults. How, past the third month or so, Xanxus had becoming more willing to attend official meetings, and had begun to stay back past the seventh, just for an extra day. They'd also picked up the tendency to mention their subordinates' antics or their current work troubles in passing–making small talk.

Still, to think that those trifles had culminated in a night like the one they'd just had. And he'd thought, after discovering Xanxus's penchant for Rothko, that nothing about the man would surprise him anymore.

It wasn't that the turn of events didn't please him. Indeed, Tsuna had found it increasingly hard in the recent weeks to remind himself not to fall for the man. But how would Xanxus take this possible sign of mutual attachment? Pretend it didn't happen and go on as they did? Shut Tsuna out to protect his bachelorhood's purity? Undo the past year and set everything back to the way it was?

A now-familiar arm pulled him onto a muscled torso as he was busy thinking.

'Xanxus?' His tone was startled.

Uncomfortably warm breath ruffled through Tsuna's hair as his head was nudged down to rest at Xanxus's collarbone. 'Huh. The fuck is this. Cinnamon? You need to get a manlier shampoo, Sawada.'

Laughter bubbled up only too eagerly in his relief. '_That's_ the first thing you say?! Jeez...' And two left hands twined together in the meantime, supposedly unnoticed.

* * *

(Owari)

The **corresponding fanart**: sethadmirer. livejournal dot com / 24203 . html (Rated PG-13 for partial nudity)


	21. Because I Owe You This

Hi everyone. It's been…how many months has it been again?  
.

(*sees glint of pitchforks in the distance, moves on hastily) Anyway, I'd like to extend my heartfelt apologies to everyone for the long wait.** I'm so, **_**so**_**, sorry for this**; I can imagine how irritated or bemused some of you must've been.  
.

But believe me when I say I have not relaxing all this while. **Nevertheless, I do owe you all an explanation **for my relative inactivity, and here it is:  
.

1. **My health problems**

Don't worry, I'm not in danger of dying! :P However, this _is_ for the long-term. I've begun taking therapy for it, which, unfortunately, leaves me emotionally and physically drained. Heck, they've even aggravated some of my symptoms. Then again, my therapist did warn me it would get worse before it starts getting better.

Yeah. Sometimes it gets pretty tough. But at least we're making progress.  
.

2.** A general creative block **

Title says all. I'm still getting ideas, but not in the regularity and range of last semester by a long mile. Probably has to do with item no. 1.  
.

Fear not! **Yours truly still in the game.** Just slower at completing things, that's all. And there's always tons of stuff I can do when I'm not directly working on my projects. Like researching to back up my stories, practicing inking/ drawing, reading published prize-winners to absorb styles and ideas, etc.

Basically, still working at it. Just, nothing to show, sadly.

**Nothing to show just **_**yet**_**.**

Will be trying to make that blazing comeback. In the meantime, please be patient and give me some extra time to rest these "old bones", ok? ;)

Hoping to see you guys soon!


	22. Changing Platforms

Finally finished this after 4 months, and just in time! Happy New Year, everyone! :D

Coincidentally, this story deals with the theme of change. It was written to the setting of '**What if Tsuna and Kyoko married after all**?' And the idea of making Tsuna romantically dominant in a traditional and more explicit manner.

* * *

Title: **Changing Platforms**

Pairing:** X27, 27Kyoko**

Genre:** Angst, family, romance**

Rating: **PG-13 for swearing**

Summary: **Because when you walked away and left some things behind, you also moved in a new direction.**

* * *

Beta:Shiary

Prompt: Moonlight

* * *

_._

_The sky is torn across_

_This ragged anniversary of two_

_Who moved for three years in tune_

_Down the long walks of their vows._

-"On a Wedding Anniversary" by Dylan Thomas

* * *

.

"_You just don't look at me like you used to anymore," she sighed. Then she upped and left._

* * *

.

Tsuna had long since sensed the cracks in their marriage. More than sensed. It wasn't fights–they had always been a very pleasant couple, that much was agreed upon, and envied–nor was it some affair. Kyoko had been a faithful, loving wife for as long as she was his, and Tsuna had been just as romantic and attentive.

It was just how the love-making was always cautiously vanilla now (_and often too sober_), how the painstakingly conjured gifts had become generic roses. How random conversations bridging and discovering the two worlds, the one around them and inside them, had meandered off into Tsuna's censored talk, and Kyoko's sexless topics of their household and children. How the sense of _wanting_ her, of fitting his soul to hers, stopped being either the spitfire purpose of life or a gentleness larger than himself. How they had settled into the land of the routine, the dutiful and expected.

Somehow, their marriage had melted into this pretence and become bewildered.

* * *

.

"_Do you ever wonder? If we might've turned out differently?" He'd muse aloud to her later, after he'd buried the nostalgia and had-beens. Awaited the answer while holding his breath. No matter how friendly the terms of their estrangement, this was still a dangerous question._

* * *

.

That was also in part his fault. Had he not questioned in his sleep, secretly, guiltily, despite all being as well as could be hoped for? Of how his life could've been like if nearly all of it weren't staged since he was fourteen? Of how mellow this man's voice could be, how soul-sucking that woman's eyes, and that unforgettably sinuous male stripper who'd woken up his full sexuality at twenty.

All of which could've meant nothing, but he wasn't the only one to stick his head in the proverbial sand. There had also been Kyoko's inability to conciliate her kind, darling husband with the reality of her warm, freshly-dead kidnapper–not monster, but _man_; desolate, unlucky man hell-bent on a vendetta for his daughter–the man who'd spilt his guts on the floor after spilling his sad story.

(And other little things she'd explained away in her own mind, of course. But those had nothing on the slick, unforgiving concreteness of Tsuna's practised calm and steady yank on the trigger.)

As Tsuna glanced down at her broken eyes and their wailing firstborn, he had known there was no repairing this. Even so, he should've reached harder as she retreated into the safe haze where his Guardians were just "old friends", who clouded the periphery of a _stable_, _normal_ life; where the Vongola, if it cropped up at all, could be encased in silence or uneasy euphemisms. He should've given in to Reborn's dissatisfaction.

(Never mind how hard he had reached before, how desperate. How pained, how _tired_.)

Then their forbearing, intelligent children grew into teenagers, and hormones teased out the years of hardship-matured resentment.

* * *

.

"_Can't say," She sipped her iced tea, pointing out. "We'd stopped working so long ago that I can barely remember."_

_There. A brief second, when he'd wanted to hate her distant amiability._

_That is, if he hadn't his own lack of repentance._

* * *

.

To be honest, they had already done their best. Even Macario, with his more pronounced temper. But it wasn't fair, hadn't been fair on them, to have to understand what to hide from their mother, how to carefully curtail their speech and listen for what the rest of the Mafiosi wouldn't say to their faces. Not at an age when they should've been permitted their innocence.

It had started, of all people, with their daughter. Tsuna had been about to go to Hong Kong for three days. Kyoko had only finished asking cheerily which shirts he'd prefer for this "business trip", when Mikoto, sweet, patient Mikoto, spoke in a strange voice she'd never used before. Tsuna's Hyper-Intuition had prickled his neck before her words even kicked in.

_Business trip? Why won't you call it what it _really_ is?_

Tsuna had not been equipped to deal with such an uproar from his children. He really was not. This was nothing like his son's occasional walk-offs and refusals to talk, or his daughter's rare, half-hearted sulks. There was screaming: Tsuna's angry orders overridden by shouts. There was devouring, of pretences.

Mikoto's tears. Kyoko begging everyone to stop_, please, STOP_.

By the end, as Macario exited quietly behind his sister's rampaging form, Tsuna met his wife's overwhelmed, hurt-reddened eyes truly registering him, a first in sixteen years and realised–

It was done.

Yet the ring still bit much harder around his fourth finger than the nails did on his clenched palm.

* * *

.

"_By the way, how's the boutique been getting along?"_

"_Splendid," she beamed.__"The bank has just approved our loan, and we'll be meeting a supplier.__Work has also been progressing smoothly on the shop lot, though Patrick and Ndidi can't seem to agree on the theme. I swear, those two! They've been driving Giuliana _crazy._" _

"_Well, I'm glad that things have been fine."_

"_Thank you."_

* * *

.

Still, he hadn't anticipated the divorce papers to be served up suddenly and politely three years later, after an everyday breakfast. He should've been more dismayed, but even part of that had been adulterated by the relief–that this was over, no more hiding; that his son and daughter, newly away at college, could no longer be damaged by their separation.

(Or their union.)

His mouth itched to form, "Can we still talk about this?", but he could just hear her answer, "Could you have thrown away that life for me?" So he said nothing as he signed the papers.

The next half-year whirled. It whirled through daytime jobs and the moments where he jolted awake at night, waiting for her light snore. Waiting for the lavender lacing her hair, and the bed curving downwards near his spine, to acknowledge her weight nearby. Waiting for the rasp of her clothes, her towel on the rack, the alphabetical arrangement of books on the shelves–because she hated a mess–only to be greeted by–nothing.

(But these were minor melancholia-annoyances, concerning _no-one_ who didn't already expect them, so for all intents and purposes the separation was easy.)

The process, too, had been distressingly tidy. There hadn't been any need for legal settlements except on their joint account and investments. Kyoko had even refused the penthouse, and the Audi was more like a parting gift. There was also no question about the delegation of custody: the Vongola needed its heirs, and with the younger of their two eight months away from legal age it was merely a formality.

Summer came and went. Kyoko arrived dressed in the denim coat and frock she wore to visit friends. Tsuna noted the scarf with a pang; he had given her that on their first leisurely trip to Venice.

Haru was also present, greeting Tsuna with genuine (though determined) bubbliness. If there was one thing all three had agreed upon, it was that by no account should Tsuna and Kyoko's relations affect their mutual friendships. In a way it had been a relief to have her around, someone who would remind Tsuna that other things hadn't changed. It also helped to have Macario's birthday party as their focus: between the guest lists and catering, the next few hours concluded without a hitch.

Although, that didn't prevent the slip of common sense once Haru went to take a call, and left him with his ex-wife. "Look," He stretched out a hand, not quite touching her, but she stopped anyway. Except, what was there left to say? Sorry? Good luck? Her rueful smile said she'd already heard them all in his hesitation.

She was at the door before he'd fully processed it, saying thank you, and in the time it took for her soulful warmth to give the words all their sincere gratitude, Tsuna's heart almost wanted to beat faster–

Then he was watching her willowy back again between the bodyguards. Her yellow dress blended in serenely with the swaying leaves.

Life wasn't a soap opera, marked at exact moments by pure, appropriate emotions. This was nevertheless a good occasion as any to get drunk just for the sake of it.

* * *

.

"_And you?" his ex-wife asked. "How are things progressing with him?"_

_The Decimo paused, feeling as if he'd committed some mental misstep. "Uh, what?" _

"_Oh, _Tsuna_," and it sounded like he was being reprimanded for forgetting some errand again. "No-one that impatient is going to wait another year, let alone _forever_." _

_All he could do was blink at his ex's cryptic choice of words._

* * *

.

"She's still very beautiful, you know," he explained morosely, peering into his empty shot glass. "That spark; it's like it's not aged a day over thirty. And she always was a good mother, a good wife, despite everything. Wonderful listener too."

"Which I would _not_ care to be," Xanxus sneered, lip curling. "Just how in the blazes did I end up as your drinking partner?"

"Because, well," The don waved his hand through vague motions, wariness all loosened from the years and the alcohol. "Yamamoto and Gokudera are out on a job, Ryohei's loud, Lambo and Fuuta are technically my younger brothers, and Mukuro is _Mukuro_." The last was punctuated by a shudder. (Hibari, of course, was never to be mentioned in the same breath as unnecessary socialising.)

The Varia leader privately agreed. That mind-game-obsessed illusionist was also the last person he'd prefer to get inebriated around (though Bel's "oopsy-daisy" giggles and knives came at a close second).

"And I figured you might want to uncork the Bruichladdich."

"Damn straight," Xanxus signalled the bartender. "You'd better be footing the bill for this."

Tsuna tipped the last of his glassful wordlessly down his throat.

* * *

.

Then the bar and night-hours began to shut themselves in, and there was only so much even an alcoholic could imbibe.

It wasn't practical, it wasn't ideal, for two stoned elite members of the famiglia to go winding down the streets, however feared and powerful. But Tsuna made a stubborn, if polite, drunk, and Xanxus wanted what he wanted, fuck you very much, plus, when was the last time that either one of them walked the streets?

Screw the Varia! He needed a vacation.

For now, the grainy cobblestone beneath his soles and chill stiffening his muscles would have to suffice. Present, less-than-ideal company too.

Although, Sawada did compensate for himself by minimising any aspects of unpleasantness. He'd also fallen into a sleepy compliance, thus obediently allowing Xanxus to drag him about.

His younger self would've been more enraged and contemptuous at this. He would've sneered at how naïve Sawada was to trust him, an enemy; would've used the opportunity to instil a lesson. The aged, (_slightly_) tired man, however, had spent decades grudgingly admiring his adversary. So he simply grumbled and adjusted the deadweight, trying his best to ignore the warm, curving press of silk against his torso. The respirations tickling his pulse. The tease of quaintly old-fashioned cologne, beneath that insistent whiff of scotch.

Being aware of their bodyguard fleet watching around the corners helped.

It was a measure of how deep he was beneath his thoughts and the alcohol, that his feet sensed the hotel porch before his head. For a while they stumbled, engaged in an awkward dance, as arms tightened around arms and––

––moonlight doused the both of them, stripping Sawada's upturned face of every possible illusion of summery youth. Transforming him into everything that wasn't the child he despised. _More_. Xanxus squeezed his eyes shut.

_Fuck._

He was already divorced wasn't he?

So.

Keeping one's enemies close enough to kiss.

* * *

.

Tsuna woke up in bed alone. It was impossible to tell if there had been anyone in it with him–his consciousness was still stinging, and another bed, a single, stood next to his own–but there was a look about Xanxus's eyes as he emerged from the bath, fully clothed, that had a freeze-frame slicing through the veil of Tsuna's sleep and his heart jackrabbiting.

–_more a prosaic act of mouth touching mouth, just before Tsuna collapsed into sleep, the last thing he heard being Xanxus's half-cussed complaint that his breath reeked_–

The man, good _God_, was staking him with a gaze so confrontational, whilst Tsuna's mouth ran autopilot–"I–you–uh, good morning?"–like he'd left his brains at the bar. Luckily, the clock was right behind Xanxus, allowing him latch onto that. "Oh, look at the time!"

Then whatever remained of his concentration was directed at fleeing into the bathroom and leaving his source of distress by himself.

It was only as his universe stopped shaking, and filled his stomach with an odd wave of queasy regret that he calmed himself, and hurriedly opened the door–Xanxus was gone.

* * *

.

He couldn't. He couldn't do this.

…Could he?

_Was this what you meant? Kyoko?_

The scandalised part of his mind gave a cry. _But that's _Xanxus!

Not to mention how they were both males, both Mafiosi in esteemed posts. To say the consequences of either being tremendous was an understatement.

He was already over forty, for goodness sakes! And too engaged in his work, too concerned for his children. Also freshly divorced, for only_ ten months_. Wasn't there supposed to be some decent waiting period of pure bachelorhood, to be observed before one moved on?

_What if it's just a rebound? _

He groaned. God, he was sitting in a chair built obscenely like a throne, at the literal peak of the mafia world–behaving like a _teenager. _

He pinched the bridge of his nose.

In any case, it wasn't like he could do anything without Xanxus's own consent. Which he was surely beyond now.

* * *

.

"_Vooooiiii,"_ Squalo drawled, in a tone that was deadly soft for him and doubly unnerving. Especially considering how the laryngeal injury had given his voice all the charms of a gravel-scraping buzzsaw. "Have you _ANY_ idea what you did to him?"

Tsuna sighed, feeling the warning signs of a headache. "Squalo–"

"Bad enough that he should win a fucking PRIZE for denying himself; apparently Hyper Intuition can't do SHIT in preventing some people from becoming retards as well. Or do you get _your_ rocks off from frustrating the rest of us TOO?! A month, one DAMN _MONTH_ since the guards have reported you both checking into the same _godforsaken_ _ROOM_, and still _freaking _NOTHING–"

"ENOUGH," Tsuna thundered, drawing to his full stature. "You forget yourself, Varia Squad Captain!"

But the assassin was not to be cowed. "Then explain to me," He snarled, "Why you two aren't sickeningly all over each other like you're supposed to be, why he's sitting there going_ stir-crazy_ _on his ass when he's not trying to kill everybody_–"

"_Because_ simple animal attraction is _not_ adequate reason for two adults to go for each other–"

"ANIMAL ATTRACTION MY ASS!" The swordsman roared, going into full-blown screaming. "DO YOU THINK I'M FREAKING BLIND, OR HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN ALL THOSE PARTIES, FUNCTIONS AND SHIT? HOW YOU TWO BEHAVE AROUND EACH OTHER?"

_Like he could._ Sometimes, he amused himself just trying to trace the start, like _how_ did it get to this point where he noticed how well Xanxus's form fitted his tux? And the man's _intelligence_. Kami, Tsuna really did enjoy their occasional, surprisingly conflict-free banter far too much. Not to mention the precious, mind-destroying half-smiles sometimes unearthed by a witty answer, and their quiet wine-savouring sessions, which often flushed him with a warmth not entirely liquor.

But there were–

"–FUCK, OF ALL THE FUCKING _BILLIONS_ OF PEOPLE HE COULD BE HUNG UP ON, WHY _YOU_, WHY THE ONE PERSON WITH WHOM HE CAN'T EVER BE SURE OF HIMSELF–"

–the surreptitious glances, inciting a tinge of paranoia Hyper Intuition could not entirely calm, the occasional unreadable stares followed by walking off, the overly haughty but nonchalant stance, and always, whenever he met Tsuna's eyes, a lip-curling sneer–

"–CAN'T EVEN _REACT_, DOESN'T EVEN KNOW _HOW _TO, LIKE SOME SAD _SCHOOLBOY_."

Oh.

_Oh._

The Sword Emperor must've blown off enough steam to note the shock on Tsuna's face, for the glare he levelled on him was not unkind. "Get you frickin' act together." Then off like the whirlwind, but not before punctuating the air with one last vehement, "having to play freaking _Cupid_ like I don't have a mission to do".

And _my_, wasn't his mind properly scrambled; perhaps it would be useful to do a little summary?

So:

He, Sawada Tsunayoshi, was going to pursue an _actual _romantic relationship with a man. A rude, difficult, arrogant man, who, despite the meds and some maturation, was still given to spectacular displays of property destruction. The same man who made a murder attempt on him, thirty years ago.

The most unnerving part, Tsuna thought shakily, had to be how seriously he was considering this.

* * *

.

He must've broken some sort of record for the number of times he'd been shown the Varia HQ's door, despite its inhabitants being famously inhospitable.

Nonetheless, it was imperative he did not throw the Decimo's weight around in approaching Xanxus, so he rested resolute knuckles upon the wood once more. Only this time, they went into free fall, and where they were supposed to be Squalo's annoyance greeted him. "You're going to kill us all," he muttered, and with that certain statement Xanxus's lieutenant stomped off–with the door conveniently unlocked.

The next one he'd had to open himself–at the expense of a vodka glass flying his way, which he caught.

"_Leave."_

Tsuna closed the door behind himself. It was the entire, thankfully empty bottle that was lobbed next. "Oof! This must've been pretty expensive," he commented, by way of conversation. He set both on a nearby table.

Xanxus snorted and stomped over to his desk. _Honestly, what was with these Varia and their trampling?_ The don thought distantly, as booted feet hiked themselves up on antique mahogany, and the man poured only himself a drink.

"_Well?_ What does the Decimo want?" Tsuna winced internally. He hadn't seen Xanxus behave this impudently for the past ten years.

_At least it was a start._

"It's, you and I need to talk. That night–"

"Was _nothing._" If Tsuna thought Xanxus had been hostile seconds ago, he was now positively icy. "_There is nothing to discuss._"

Cue the refrained sigh of frustration. "I'm really sorry for what happened, Xanxus, but it wasn't what you think–"

"Really," snarled the Varia leader. "So there's another way to interpret a man with Hyper Intuition _running _in the face of your advances?"

"Xanxus–"

"Save your breath, Sawada, or stick to business. If there's none–"

"Will you believe me if I formally propose a relationship this instant?" Tsuna cut in with a rush. There. It wasn't as he'd planned, but better than waiting on the deteriorating discussion.

Though, the heightened aura of danger that swept in almost instantly wasn't much better. "…Are you _PITYING _me? Because if you think I can accept this farce, _knowing_ how afraid you are–"

"I'm afraid," Tsuna confirmed. "But I'm afraid of _us_. I'm afraid this will fail, because we know nothing of maintaining a relationship. I'm afraid my friends and children will reject _us_. I'm afraid what this will mean for the Vongola; how we will be received by neutral parties and the Family's allies. I'm afraid that this," His eyes closed, left hand curling to hide a steadily darkening band of skin.

_I'm afraid that this will be the same._

_But of you, I'm not_ _afraid._

"So you don't know_ anything_,"Xanxus answered harshly, stepping into his personal space. "You're jumping into this, asking ME to jump into this fucking _blind._" That face belonged to a man whose certainty had suddenly rushed away from beneath his feet. The brunet stared back, calm incarnate.

"Unfortunately." He answered, half-man, half-don. "But that's how we can find out." Loud red eyes bored at his being, followed by raucous laughter.

"You know what?" The Varia leader slumped, the edge to his words equally angry and tired. "Fuck you, and fuck this shit." Then he leant in.

They kissed and kissed, finding no fireworks on the other's chapped lips. Worse: it felt natural, like they were only just waking up, to something they didn't realise they were already part of. Eyes slowly widened (Xanxus's with resigned reluctance, Tsuna's with dazed trepidation) and bodies drew back, inelegant as children. Feet followed bumbled suggestions and set themselves towards the grounds; anywhere less conducive to desperate groping.

Whereupon Tsuna realised: He didn't want this to be perfect.

Not someone who could be agreeable and happy with him, but someone who truly saw the contradictions that he was, bloodstains in his armour and intact morals–but still wanted _him_. It begged the question of whether he'd been waiting for someone like Xanxus all along.

There was still the issue of breaking the news to the children, but that would come to it later.

For now, it was enough, to watch his lover struggle to stay at a socially acceptable distance, while debating the advisability of simply reaching out his own hand–and to want with a newborn hope.

* * *

.

(Owari)

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* * *

**A/N:**

1. XANXUS, STOP SCREWING TSUNAYOSHI WITH YOUR SIGNALS. XD

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2. Tsuna's children's names: **Macario**, Italian for "blessed, happy". **Mikoto**, Japanese for "precious". No matter what happened between them, Tsuna and Kyoko love their kids very much.

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3. I know nothing about opening boutiques, or catching thrown glass objects. Please excuse any inaccuracies.

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4. **Bruichladdich**: Bruichladdich 17 year old, a rum cask whisky.

Do take time to enjoy the irony of this teetotaller having researched liquor extensively–no thanks to a certain alcoholic Italian. =_=

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5. Now, Lussuria might've been the one to let Tsuna into the Varia mansion–if he wasn't away on a mission.

Imagine the pestering poor Squa-kun must now suffer once the Luss-Mama comes back, and finds that 'Bossu' and 'the little Vongola' are now an item. XD

.

6. Some songs I listened to in writing parts of this:

Dearest, by Zhang Hui Mei:

www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=ABixOpjcXes&list=FLh9i2p-iRqj8ybJ0vVC629Q&index=71 (English translation of the lyrics not quite accurate though. The video is also kinda random, lol.)

Drenched, by Qu Wan Ting:

www dot youtube dot com / watch?v=mZPjyWPYP7s&list=FLh9i2p-iRqj8ybJ0vVC629Q (This is an English song)

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7. **No Kyoko-bashing please.** Comments on OOCness or illogical plot points are welcome, but no "she's a bitch" or whatever. I'll not stand for that.

* * *

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**I know I don't ask for reviews anymore, but getting one always makes me happy.** Especially if it tells me your impressions of my work so far -the good and/or the bad.

So please tell me what you think!


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